


Of Miracles and Heroes

by manka



Series: Miracles and Heroes of Thedas [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Anders Lives, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blackwall Spoilers, Cadash Swears, Chantry Boom, Drama & Romance, Dwarf Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Family Feels, Fenris is Bad at Feelings, Fluff and Angst, Fugitives, Hardened Alistair (Dragon Age), Hawke & Varric Tethras Friendship, Hawke is So Done, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Inquisitor Backstory, Jealous Anders, King Alistair, Kirkwall (Dragon Age), M/M, Named Amell (Dragon Age), Named Cadash (Dragon Age), Nightmares, On the Run, POV Fenris (Dragon Age), POV Varania, POV Varric Tethras, Parent Blackwall, Parent-Child Relationship, Past Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, Post-Dragon Age II, Post-Dragon Age: Origins, Protective Fenris, Protective Siblings, Romance, Sarcastic Hawke, Sassy Inquisitor, Sexual Tension, Sibling Bonding, Tevinter Culture and Customs, Tragedy, Varric Tethras Is So Done, Warden Carver Hawke, Zevran Arainai Flirts, Zevran being Zevran, dark Anders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-04
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2019-07-06 23:57:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 95
Words: 420,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15896757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manka/pseuds/manka
Summary: "Vehendis, you're right. The additional head wound was completely unnecessary. Your sense of humor was already atrocious."Fenris left Kirkwall because he can't picture living in a world without Reyna Hawke. Unfortunately, staying out of trouble is something Hawke is incapable of doing. If it wasn't bad enough being on the run, Fenris is plagued by dreams of horrible things and a suspicion that there is something else just as dangerous and terrible waiting for them.Staying at Hawke's side seems to have strained the only romantic relationship Varric has ever cared about. He writes letters, as he always has, but obtains no response. Brokenhearted, he works on the Tale of the Champion. Unfortunately, when people come looking for Hawke, it is his door they find. He won't draw his best friend to her doom, but before he can gracefully escape the world goes to shit. This is where the miracle starts: Maria Cadash is a Carta heiress and a damn fine Wicked Grace player with a glowing hand. When she steps out of a rift, none of their lives will ever be the same again.





	1. The End of the Beginning

**Chapter 1. The End of the Beginning**

 

There was an eerie silence. The only sound Fenris could hear was the crackle and popping of the charred skeleton in front of him, the heavy breathing of Carver on his right, and the blood rushing in his ears. The sight in front of him and his companions had shocked them and every templar surrounding them into profound quiet as they observed the twisted figured of the former Knight Commander.

“Is she...is she lyrium?” Merrill, the blood mage, asked. He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. There was blood dripping from her palm into the cobblestones. Her eyes were as wide as saucers. She was looking at the back of Hawke’s head. Hawke hadn’t moved. Her fingers were still gripped so tightly on her staff that her knuckles were white. A breeze caught the strands dark hair that had come loose during the battle. Fenris could smell the smoke on the wind. The city was burning while they stood here. They had to move, they had to go now.

“Hawke.” He called quietly. She looked over her shoulder at him immediately, as she always did when he called. Her lyrium blue eyes were weary. He hadn’t noticed prior, but her other arm was pressed to a wound just above her ribs. That wound was dangerously close to her heart and whatever weapon had caused it had cut through the chainmail she wore. It was still bleeding through her fingers, but slowly. It wouldn’t be fatal then and she’d probably already begun to heal it. He had to check though, he couldn’t lose her. Not after all this, not now.

His first step toward Hawke broke whatever spell had held all the templars still. His second step brought a woman in armor running toward the Knight Commander’s skeleton. His third step brought him close enough to touch Hawke, to run his fingers through the fur at her neck and feel the blood matted there from a scratch on her neck. He peeled away her hand as she winced. Her eyes jumped from him to the glowing skeleton, then back to him as her checked the wound. “Venhedis.” Fenris swore. The stab wound was deeper than he thought.

“Ah, for a moment I thought you’d never swear at me again.” Hawke whispered, her lips quirking just a bit.

“Heal it.” Fenris commanded. Hawke shook her head.

“I’ve done what I can for now. I’m out of mana, I’m out of lyrium. It won’t kill me before you do.”

Fenris swore again and turned to the blood mage. She shook her head. “I used my last lyrium potion.”

“Here.” Carver was beside his sister now. Fenris noted that his shining Warden armor was streaked with soot and dented in several locations. He popped the cork on a healing potion, pressing it into Hawke’s hand. Hawke took it with shaky fingers, downing it in one swallow.

The templar who had been kneeling in front of the former Knight Commander, or the monster she had turned into, looked up at the Knight Captain. There was something hopeless in that glance. Hawke let out a hiss, her eyes flicking around them. They were surrounded by templars, most likely what was left of the templar order. They were exhausted, out of supplies, and out of options. At the very best, they had stopped a madwoman with two apostates in their group. At the very worst, they had led an armed insurrection by siding with these mages.

_“They’ll make her tranquil.” Anders had taunted during one trip to the Wounded Coast. Isabella and Hawke had been up ahead. Their heads had been pressed almost together, occasionally Fenris could hear giggling. Fenris was trying desperately not to show how much he adored that sound, Hawke’s laughter ringing on the cliffs. He couldn’t stop himself from being mesmerized by the sway of Hawke’s hips in her leathers._

_“There is no reason to make her tranquil. Hawke is not a danger.” Fenris replied as evenly as possible. Hawke would be upset if he fought with the abomination. He did leave the words “unlike you” unsaid. They hung in the air like fog._

_“You will betray her. You will turn her over to the templars. They’ll make her tranquil and she’ll never laugh again. You’ll have no one but yourself to blame.” Anders had a patronizing tone that made Fenris want to turn and plunge his fist into his chest. He let out a low growl of warning._

_“Fenris!” Hawke yelled back to them. He looked up and his heart caught in his throat at the sight of her milk and honey skin, flushed pink with delight. She was wearing a wide grin the way lesser women wore diamonds. She was a vision. “You’ll never guess what Bela is trying to get me to tell her about you!”_

_He couldn’t help himself or the low chuckle that escaped his mouth as he picked up his pace to leave the abomination behind. “I’m sure it has something to do with my smallclothes.” He answered easily. Isabela cackled and Hawke continued to grin. As he caught up to the two women, he let his gauntleted hand pass slowly over Hawke’s hip. Just a casual touch, common between two lovers. Isabela didn’t even common on it, she continued on her mission to determine the color of what Fenris wore under his armor. Hawke’s eyes took on a molten heat as she looked up at him, before tearing her eyes away and focusing back on Isabela._

_Fenris spared a glance over his shoulder at the sullen figure in his new black robes. Anders was glaring at the gauntlet on Fenris’s left hand like it had called his mother a whore. Amber eyes flicked up to meet his own. Fenris glared back cooly. This mage wanted what Fenris had, that was all. But Hawke didn’t laugh for Anders, he wasn’t able to touch her heart, and Anders had never heard her moan his name while buried inside her. Anders had tried to crawl into Fenris’s place multiple times, but had never been able to. So Fenris simply turned away from the abomination and enjoyed the freedom of the day with Hawke on his left, where she belonged._

If Fenris had known then what Anders would do, he’d have turned back to the mage and ripped his heart out of his chest and spat on it. Fenris knew that the mage was dangerous, he should have stopped him. Why hadn’t he stopped him? Now Hawke, his Hawke, was surrounded by templars. If anything happened to her, the blood would be on Anders’s hands as surely as the hundred of dead littering the Gallows and Kirkwall’s streets.

Knight Captain Cullen was looking at Hawke. Hawke was staring back at him. Around them, swords were drawn. Despite his exhaustion, Fenris felt his marking burn weakly as he shifted into a defensive stance. His sword hovered in front of Hawke, a dare to any who would approach him. Hawke’s hand reached out, fingers still covered in her wet, warm blood. Her small fingers closed around his arm tightly, but she was still looking at Cullen.

“Cullen, not them.” She whispered. “Me if you have to, but not them. Please.”

Fenris’s marks glowed brighter, a flash of fury and power. How like her, he thought. Before he could say anything, another voice cut in.

“No!” Varric half shouted. Fenris heard him shift Bianca and felt a rush of affection for his friend, his diamondback partner. Cullen took a breath, the whole world seemed to tilt precariously on its axis. Fenris realized for the first time, he had never actually told Hawke he loved her. She knew, she had to know, but Fenris had never formed the words with his mouth even though she had many times.

Cullen sheathed his sword. There was another terrible moment no longer than a heartbeat when he stepped back and none of the other templars did that Fenris thought they would disobey the signal. Finally, he heard the rattling of swords being slid into scabbards. Hawke released a breath he hadn’t realized she had been holding. “Go.” Cullen said, turning to the skeleton glowing brightly red. “Maker’s breath. Go.”

Fenris didn’t have to be told twice. Hawke swayed with uncertainty, but he had twisted to grab her arm now. He didn’t put away his sword, although if he had to drag her it would certainly hinder him to fight one handed. Varric backed out slowly, Bianca only slightly lowered. Isabela dashed ahead. Merrill was limping, putting as much of her weight as possible on her staff. Carver shouldered past Hawke and Fenris, sweeping the blood mage up in his arms as she sputtered ineffectively in gratitude. Aveline brought up the rear, shield and sword still out and eyes darting warily.

Isabela’s hands were like lighting as she began to ready the small dingy they’d stolen to get to the Gallows in the first place. Fenris shifted to help Hawke into the boat, she was short even for a woman. He tossed her staff in after her, then swung himself in as well. Aveline wasn’t even settled in before Isabela was shoving off, adjusting the sails.

“So sweetness.” Isabela began. “Do you know how I was waiting for something really exciting to happen before I left Kirkwall? I think I’m over it.”

Varric snorted. “Honestly Rivaini, I’m willing to bet Kirkwall is over us.”

“Where will you go?” Hawke asked, kneeling beside Merrill and Carver and gently taking Merrill’s leg. She sighed as she looked at it, shaking her head.

“Is it very bad Hawke?” Merrill asked.

“No Merrill. But I’m afraid I can’t do anything now. I’m sorry.” Hawke paused, swallowing hard. “I’m so sorry about everything.” She said again.

“Yes, it was your idea to blow up the chantry. I forgot about that.” Fenris commented.

“Well now, sweetness.” Isabela cut in. “I’ve been thinking I need some additional crew members. We’ll figure out where to go next, but I think this is the time for a proper escape. For all of us.”

“Sister, you can’t stay here.” Carver interrupted. “There will be more templars. They _will_ be out for revenge.”

“Don’t forget choir-boy.” Varric’s lips were pressed together in a thin line of displeasure. “He wasn’t happy. I don’t think he was lying Hawke, at the very least you need to disappear until he has a chance to reconsider.”

Hawke slowly looked around her companions. This motley group made up of misfits and pariahs. She bit her lip, releasing a deep sigh. “Aveline, I thought I said I’d never flee a burning city again.”

Aveline smiled sadly. “This time I won’t be going with you Hawke. I must stay here, with Donnic. We have a duty to the people here to keep them safe. When the templars come… I’ll throw them off your trail. I swear.”

Hawke hadn’t cried. Tears sprung to her eyes now, although she didn’t let them fall. “Besides Carver, you’re the only one left. The only one who remembers Bethany, the only one who knows about Lothering.”

“And you two are all I have left of Wesley.” Aveline replied simply, reaching for Hawke’s hand and squeezing. “You will come home someday Hawke, I believe in you. I always have.”

Hawke took a deep breath and closed her eyes. When she opened them, the tears were gone. Her blue eyes were determined. “Well. I suppose we’re fugitives then.”

“I have had practice at least.” Fenris responded wryly. Hawke sighed and put her head in her hands as Varric let out a low laugh.

“The Wardens will want me back soon, but I can help you get out of the city.” Carver offered glumly. “You can drop me somewhere and I’ll make my way back after.”

“They’ll be angry with you, won’t they?” Merrill inquired.

“Maybe.” Carver shrugged, his eyes on the Gallows as it receded and Kirkwall’s harbor came into view. “But some things are more important.”

Isabela swore that she could round up her crew and what remaining supplies she needed in an hour. She brought them to the ship, then vanished with Varric in tow. Varric stated he needed to see what could be salvaged from his suite at the Hanged Man.

“Orana is in the estate all alone.” Hawke stated. “People could break in. She could be in danger.”

“Fasta vass.” Fenris swore. “You’re right. I’ll go. Stay here.”

“Wait! No! I’m coming with you.” Hawke contradicted.

“No you are not.” Fenris argued, pushing his hands through his hair. “The city is a powder keg. If riots haven’t started yet, they will. The people will be hunting mages, and there is a very large chance they will turn on their champion and forget all the good you’ve done for this city.”

Hawke opened her mouth to continue arguing, then shut it. Her hand went unconsciously to her abdomen, to where the Arishok’s sword had impaled her. Her eyes traveled to where the chantry once loomed above the city, then back to Fenris. “You won’t come back. I’ve made you a fugitive again and you won’t come back. I wouldn’t blame you, not really.” She tried to crack a smile. “I wouldn’t come back to me either.”  

Fenris had left her once. He flinched at the memory, she’d looked the same then. Vulnerable and alone. “Reyna.” He whispered. Her eyes closed and he took her cheek gently, careful with his gauntlets on her sensitive skin. “Reyna Hawke. Nothing in this world or the fade could keep me from your side now.” He lowered his voice, tipping her chin up and kissing her softly. “I love you.” He whispered against her lips.

She jumped like she had been electrocuted, blue eyes flying open. He couldn’t help the small smile. “I will return. Keep the ship safe for us.”

“I will stay with you.” Aveline volunteered. “Until you leave. I’ll try to keep order here.”

“Merrill has potions and supplies in the alienage.” Carver stated, her arm around his neck now. “We’ll go get them, then meet back here. In an hour.”

Fenris was only looking at Hawke as he nodded in agreement. “One hour.”

The situation in the city was deteriorating by the moment. Halfway through Lowtown, he had to cut his way through the first mob looting the merchant stalls. He was unable to take his normal route into hightown because it was clogged with debris. Carta members were industriously making off with anything that wasn’t nailed down.

The Hawke estate hadn’t been touched yet. He opened the door, then slammed it shut behind him. It was a blessing that Bodahn and Sandal had left last week. If only Orana would have left with them.

“Messere Fenris!” Orana called from the balcony. “Where is Messere Hawke? Is she hurt? Will she be okay?” Orana was scurrying down the steps, eyes wide and frightened. She had to be badly shaken to be running towards Fenris, typically he made her as anxious as blood magic made him.

“The abomination blew up the chantry.” Fenris tried to remain calm, to not growl, to not startle her. He kept his hands where she could see them, putting away his weapon. Orana’s eyes grew even wider. “Hawke is okay. We have to leave, Orana. People will be hunting her.”

“Slavers?” Orana squeaked, bringing her hands up to her mouth.

“In a manner of speaking.” Fenris was too exhausted to explain. “They could come to the estate looking for us. You’re in danger. We need to go.”

“Go where?” She asked. Fenris was startled by this question, and more startled that he hadn’t thought of it. Vehendis, where would she go? They couldn’t ask her to go on the run with them. Orana was an admirable cook, a great housekeeper, and utterly devoted to Hawke. She wasn’t a fighter.

“Where do you want to go?” Fenris asked, feeling more stupid when she looked confused. She’d been free for three years, but he’d been free for much longer and sometimes he still felt the chains. He took a deep breath.

“You can come with us, but it will be hard. We don’t know where we will go or who will follow. We will probably have to fight our way out of the Free Marches. You can stay in the city, but not here. I can give you money, you can pack a bag, and I can take you to the alienage. Many don’t know you and you won’t be in danger if you’re not here. Aveline is staying in the city and she will look out for you.”

Orana still looked puzzled. He took his gauntleted hand and slowly, lightly put it on her shoulder. She didn’t flinch. “Pack a bag and think about what you want to do. I need to gather supplies. I will escort you safely wherever you wish, but we must hurry.”

Orana nodded, scurrying away. Fenris took the steps as quickly as he could. There was a supply pack under the bed, they took it to Sundermont or the Wounded Coast sometimes. He grabbed his few belongings first, although he still had clothes at the dilapidated mansion he was still stubbornly staying at three nights a week, there would be no going there for them. He grabbed the clothes he had available, the the Book of Shartan (besides the Blade of Mercy, his most prized possession), and his weapon polish. Then he grabbed some of Hawke’s tunics, breeches, a few skirts and blouses, a dress. From the casket near her bed he pulled out the most prized things, her parents’ wedding rings and a pendant that had belonged to Bethany, plus a dagger with a hilt the same color of her eyes (this had been his first Satinalia gift to anyone, the first gift he’d ever given her). There was some elfroot wrapped in paper and three small bottles of a lyrium potion that always buzzed uncomfortably in his hand. He filled his coin purse up as much as he could, then filled another. Gold meant nothing to Hawke, but they may need it, and Orana would too.

She had been quick, which he approved of. She had a cloak on and one thrown over her arm. This one was Hawke’s, he recognized the white fur lining the hood. There was a pack over her shoulder and a basket slung over her arm. She was stroking the fur nervously as she waited.

“I cannot fight Messere. I would not help if I went, would I?” She asked, trembling with emotion. Fenris wouldn’t lie to her, he shook his head. She let out a breath. “Then I will go to the alienage, but you must take care of her. You must promise!” She demanded, clutching the basket even tighter.

“I will Orana. I promise.” He swore solemnly. She nodded, accepting, as he led the way to the door.

He had Orana by the elbow, guiding her around the worst of the riots that had begun to break out. Windows were being smashed, chants were rising up. Fenris heard “Death to all mages!” from a drunken dwarf and felt a chill up his spine. Orana stiffened next to him.

He hadn’t needed to fight his way back through to Lowtown, it seemed most of the flow of traffic was going towards Hightown. Arriving at the alienage though, he was confronted with a desperate looking Carver. “Fenris!” He called.

“What are you still doing here?” Fenris hissed, letting go of Orana.

“They won’t let humans in.” Carver confessed, glaring at the gate. “Merrill went in alone, but she hasn’t come out. I can’t get in, what if she is hurt too badly to come back?” Carver questioned.

“I will get the blood mage.” He growled, cursing his luck. “Go back to the boat, the rioting is getting worse in Hightown. I pray the docks are not as bad.” Carver hesitated just long enough to irritate Fenris. Fenris let loose a stream of Tevinter cussing that made Orana’s ears go pink. “I will not leave her, get to your sister you great oaf!”

Carver backed away, then spun on his heel, taking off to the docks and Fenris pounded on the alienage gates. An elf appeared, then cracked the gate. “Fehendis!” The elf swore. “Get in here!”

Fenris took Orana’s elbow once more and guided her past the vhenadahl tree. “You can stay in Merrill’s home.” Fenris said gently. “You’ll be safe there for now.”

He didn’t bother knocking, opening the door. The first room was quiet, an abandoned pack laying on the table. “Make yourself at home.” Fenris said, disappearing around the corner.

Merrill was staring at her mirror, as he knew she would be. His marks flashed in irritation again and their reflection in the mirror caught the blood mage’s attention. “Fenris! By the dread wolf! How long have I been standing here?”

“Too long.” Fenris growled, avoiding looking at the mirror. “Are you coming or staying? We have to go.”

“I can’t believe he did that. All those people. Banal nadas.” Merrill sniffed. “But he was the monster he always said he would become.”

“Yes.” Fenris could say nothing else. “He was." 

“I will not be that!” Merrill was vehement, reaching out to touch the eluvian. “I will not become a monster.”

“We cannot take that thing with us.” Fenris scowled at the back of Merrill’s head.

“No, we cannot. And we should not.” Merrill closed her eyes. “I am going to do something I should have done a long time ago.”

Fenris didn’t expect what came next. Merrill pulled her hand away from the mirror, raising her fingers up, then snapped them. Cracks formed in the mirror, then it shattered, the pieces falling to dust at her feet. A broken sob escaped her as she keeled almost forward. Fenris swore again under his breath and rushed forward, grabbing her around her waist.

“That was most likely the wisest thing you have ever done.” It was the most praise he had ever given the blood mage, and she knew it. She looked up at him, wide eyed. “Carver is waiting for you.”

Merrill nodded, she was still limping, but not as badly. Fenris saw a discarded potion bottle on the ground, she must have had a health potion stashed here. She paused momentarily when she saw Orana, but then nodded in understanding. “Ir abelas, for the mess.” She said shyly.

“Here.” Fenris pulled out the second coin purse, pressing it into Orana’s hand. “This is yours. And when it is safe, feel free to take Aveline back to the estate and take whatever you require.”

“Thank you messere.” Orana said softly. “Vitae benefaria, Fenris.”

“Vitae benefaria, Orana.” He inclined his head, in a small bow. Then he pushed Merrill out the door.

There must have been a hundred people at the docks. Were they all trying to flee? What if the ship had sailed? His mouth went dry at the thought of Hawke, adrift without him. But they were going down the steps, halfway down now, and there was the ship. Isabela was at the helm, her crew scurrying over riggings. Aveline was handing boxes up to Carver, who was slinging them behind him. Hawke was at the rigging, a perfect job for her small size, untangling the lines. He kept Merrill in front of him, but Fenris knew he stood out in a crowd. If Hawke were to turn and look, she would see them.

Varric saw them first, his hand raising in greeting. They were not far now, Fenris could swear he heard Isabela yelling. Varric turned, to tell Hawke they were coming he was sure, but then froze. His eyes were fixed on something, someone behind him. Fenris felt a cold shiver up his spine. He turned, gripping his sword tightly. Merrill whirled with him.

Anders was several steps above them. His eyes were glowing, fade blue. Fenris felt red clouding his vision. Blood lust for the abomination. He could kill him, rip out his heart, present it to Hawke on a silver platter for all the pain, for the betrayal. Except, except… Hawke had his life in her hands and had chosen to send him away rather than sully her hands with his blood.  

“May the dread wolf take you!” Merrill yelled.

“Go to the ship.” Fenris commanded, pushing Merrill back behind him.

“Not without you.” Merrill persisted stubbornly.

“She sided with the mages. Despite your undue influence, she sided with the mages.” Anders mouth curved into a smirk.

 Fenris lost his fragile control, charging. Anders didn’t stop him. This gave him pause as he brought his sword up to the abominations neck, his hand phasing through the mage’s ribcage, clutching around the still beating heart. Enough to hurt...but not to kill.

“You did this.” Fenris growled. “You almost killed her.”

“So end me.” Anders coughed, grinning up at him. A trickle of blood escaped from the corner of his mouth. “Show her what a wild dog does.”

This was what he wanted. Was Hawke watching? Had she jumped from the rigging, racing to his side to stop him? Would she be too late? Merrill tugged on his gauntlet. “No Fenris. Not now. Not like this.”

Fenris spat on the mage, allowing Merrill to pull him back. “Your life was hers to give or take today. Next time I see you, it will be mine. Do not come near us again, or I swear you will beg for your death.”

Fenris let go of Ander’s heart. Anders doubled over, coughing. Merrill pulled him, quickly through the crowd, until he lost sight of the mage. He looked back toward the boat. Hawke wasn’t watching, but Varric, Carver, and Aveline were. They all wore mixed expressions. As Carver grabbed for Merrill, he looked at Fenris.

“You should have done it.” He said. “I would have.”

“Perhaps.” Fenris answered.

“You’re here! Cut the line, Aveline!” Isabela yelled. Aveline met Hawke’s eyes, smiling softly. Hawke jumped from the rigging, landing rather too hard, and raced to Fenris’s side, leaning over the edge of the ship.

“Goodbye my friends.” Aveline said, swinging her sword through the rope with one swoop. Fenris allowed his arms to curl around Hawke’s waist as the ship began to move.

“Andraste’s tits, they’re raising the chains.” Varric pointed to the gears on either side of the harbor. There were people there, struggling with the heavy machinery.

“Those nug humpers!” Isabela roared. “Men, let’s move!”

“Fenris, did you grab the lyrium potions? From my room?” Hawke asked, her eyes clear. Fenris opened the bag, and she dived for the glowing blue vial. She uncorked it and tossed it back placing the cork back in the bottle. “Isabela! Prepare for a strong wind!” She yelled.

Isabela didn’t ask questions, she raced toward the sails. She yanked and pulled, until they were right where she wanted them. Hawke took a deep breath, Fenris felt the pull of her magic, and when she let out her breath, a gust of wind blew past them, straight into the sails. Isabela let out a throaty whoop as they raced past the chains, out into the open water.


	2. The Immoral City

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The group arrive in Llomeryn and Fenris and Hawke take some time to work off their cabin fever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (NSFW - Steamy Bits below!)

Chapter 2: The Immoral City

 

Isabela unrolled the map with a flourish and invited Fenris to hold down one corner while she peered at it skeptically. She tapped her fingers on Kirkwall, tracing the coast to the east and west. Her eyes wandered across Thedas and she leaned closer to the map, displaying her ample cleavage. Fenris sighed. 

“Do you have a plan?” He finally asked when the silence became unbearable. 

“Oh, I always have a plan.” She purred, wiggling an eyebrow suggestively. “It usually involves whipped cream and handcuffs.”

“That sounds very messy Isabela.” Merrill commented from her perch on the arm of Isabela’s chair. 

“It is the best kind of messy, kitten.” Isabela winked.

“This map is quite expensive looking.” Hawke remarked from the other side of the table, where she was holding down the opposite corner. “I swear I’ve seen it before. Where did it walk out of?” 

“Ah, well, I picked it up on my way out of the holding cells in the Viscount’s Keep.” Isabela admitted. “Aveline threw me in there one night to sober up. Big girl is going to be so mad when she finds out.” 

Hawke’s lips twitched and she shook her head. They’d been sailing for nearly 48 hours, long enough for everyone to recover from the battle. Hawke had her hair braided and it fell neatly down her back. Varric was in a chair by the door, quill scratching as he wrote. He’d been insistent someone had to write down what had happened and had been scribbling nearly every waking hour. 

“I think our first stop should be Llomerryn. It’s far enough away that nobody should be looking for us there yet, but it is close enough that we’ll be able to learn some news.” Isabela looked as satisfied as a cat that had eaten the canary. “Besides, there’s always plenty of fun to be had in Llomerryn and it has been far too long.”

“What kind of fun?” Merrill asked, voice sugar sweet. 

“I’m sure Carver would be willing to show you what kind of fun there is to be had…” Isabela trailed off. Carver had been dozing off on the floor, the only one who had refused to sleep since the ship left Kirkwall. He jerked awake at the sound of his name, sitting up. 

“What’s that?” He asked with a yawn. Hawke groaned and caught Fenris’s eye, inclining her head towards the door. Fenris let go of the map, ignoring Merrill’s clueless questions and Isabela’s laughter. He followed Hawke’s swaying hips out onto the deck. She leaned on the rail, her pert posterior positioned just right…

Fenris knew that if he pressed against her, leaned forward and captured the lobe of her ear in his teeth, she would gasp in delight. He could pull her hips close to his, feel the curve of her ass against his erection, and let his fingers drift towards her hot center. If he whispered in her ear what he wanted, she would acquiesce immediately. It was enough to make his heart race and his manhood swell. Whenever Hawke was involved, it was too easy to get lost in vulgar thoughts. 

“Llomeryn.” Hawke tested the word on her lips, biting the bottom one as she mused. Fenris moved to stand beside her, angling his hips to hide the traitorous bulge in his pants. She released her bottom lip with an audible pop. Fenris almost groaned. “What would my mother think about me ending up in the most immoral city in Thedas? And dragging precious Carver with me?” 

“She would undoubtedly blame Varric’s sinister influence.” Fenris reminded her of her mother’s distrustful stance on their dwarven companion. Hawke let out a huff of hair that blew her bangs from her face. They lapsed into comfortable silence, staring out over the ocean.

“Her ashes are in Kirkwall.” Hawke said softly. “We spread them on the wounded coast.” 

“I remember.” Fenris did remember that day, the black urn in Hawke’s shaking hands and the pale faces of all their companions. It had been the most gentle he’d ever seen Isabela as she helped Hawke lift the lid of the urn. 

“Do you think we’ll ever go back home?” Hawke asked. 

“I am home as long as I am with you, Reyna.” Fenris answered immediately, from the heart. Hawke’s answering smile was like the sun coming from behind the clouds. 

“How will anyone take you seriously when they learn what an insufferable romantic you are?” She questioned, voice laced with laughter. 

“I have a large sword.” Fenris shrugged, smirking. 

“Oh don’t I know.” Hawke purred, nudging her hip with his own, before breaking out into laughter as clear as chantry bells. Fenris allowed her teasing to hear her laugh and knew that there was a Maker - there must be a Maker because Hawke was his miracle. He leaned in and Hawke tipped her head up. 

“Maker!” Carver banged out of the cabin, red creeping up his neck and followed by raucous laughter. “A man can’t have any peace.” 

“Or privacy.” Fenris growled, pulling away. 

“Hey!” Carver scowled, jabbing his finger into the air. “That’s my sister you’re leering over.” 

“Willing to admit I’m your sister?” Hawke gasped playfully, putting a hand to her chest and widening her blue eyes. “You must be exhausted, Carver.” 

“How the lot of you are sleeping is beyond me. Can’t stop looking over my shoulder since we made it out of the harbor. Your apostate friend murdered a grand cleric, a whole battalion of templars saw Merrill use blood magic and you killed a Knight Commander. This is a disaster.” Carver made a disgusted noise and ran his hand through his black hair. 

“Well to be fair, Junior, the Knight Commander did try to kill her first.” Varric commented, swaggering onto the deck. 

“It does sound quite dire, doesn’t it.” Merrill worried. 

“Don’t worry, kitten.” Isabela drawled. “Sounds like you have a big, handsome Warden at your feet.” 

“Carver is standing and we left Anders standing on the docks. Well, maybe not standing…” Merrill trailed off. 

“What?” Hawke’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. Fenris ducked his head as everyone fell awkwardly quiet. He could almost hear Hawke replaying the events of those few hours. 

“He approached Broody and Daisy.” Varric cut in smoothly. “On the steps, coming towards the docks. Before you ask, as far as I could tell Blondie still had his heart in his chest when they walked away.” 

“It was a close thing.” Merrill said earnestly. “But Fenris listened to me.” 

“Vehendis, woman!” Fenris snarled. “Shut your mouth or I will shut it for you!” 

“Now that I don’t believe.” Varric smirked. “Broody listening to anyone besides Hawke? Perish the thought.” 

“The abomination was behind us.” Fenris refused to meet Hawke’s glare. “Varric saw him first. He wanted to die, he wanted me to kill him. I did not, this time.” 

“What did he say?” Hawke demanded, out of the corner of his eye Fenris could see her hands curling into fists. There were several heartbeats while she waited for Fenris to answer. He didn’t. 

“He said you sided with him despite Fenris.” Merrill answered, finally. “And called him a wild dog.” 

Hawke cursed, but Fenris didn’t want to hear this. He pushed from the railing, scowling as he made his way past Hawke’s merry band of misfits. The abomination was in their past, with all the other horrors. Leandra Hawke’s mismatched body, Danarius, Hadriana, the Deep Roads, Varania, Lothering… He was ready to be free from this darkness that hung over them. But Carver, Carver felt like there was a knife pointed between his shoulder blades. Yes, the situation in Kirkwall had been awful. Cullen had let them leave, though. Surely, nobody cared that much what happened in Kirkwall. The abomination had gotten what he wanted, it was over. They could lay low until this all blew over. 

Fenris couldn’t stop the thought that rose up, ugly as a demon.  _ Did Anders truly get what he wanted? _

Hawke found him in their bunk hours later, glaring a hole in the side of the Siren’s Revenge. She placed her hands on her hips and tipped her head in an inquiring manner. “Were you ever going to tell me?” 

“Possibly.” Fenris answered honestly. “Fasta vass, what does it matter?” 

“That son of a bitch.” Hawke dropped onto the bunk. “I saved his damn life and what does he do?” 

“He wants you.” Hawke frowned and opened her mouth. Fenris shook his head before she could start. “He always has.”

“Well, if he hasn’t gotten the message after eight years I can’t be held responsible for his delusion.” Hawke explained patiently. “He was my friend Fenris. Maybe not...lately. But he was a good man. I know you could never see it.” 

“You’re right.” Fenris growled. “I would never say he was a good man.” 

“He changed. Maybe…maybe that wasn’t Anders anymore. I couldn’t take his life and have his blood on my hands.”

“He didn’t deserve your mercy or kindness. He won’t receive mine should we meet again. I informed him of that.” 

Hawke processed that for a moment, before slumping in defeat. “I suppose that I must live with that.” 

 

It was a nearly another week before they spotted the coast of Llomeryn. Hawke had been so excited to see land she had let out a whoop of delight from her place on the rigging, sliding down the ropes carelessly with Merrill. Fenris and Carver had taken to sparring on deck, and they turned to the two women in mid-swing, frozen by their exclamations. Fenris winced as Hawke landed on the deck, scurrying to the railing. Isabela breezed out of her cabin, placing an obnoxiously large hat on her dark waves. She slung her tanned arm over Hawke’s shoulder. Merrill leaned precariously over the railing, causing Carver to curse and drop his sword as he reached out to grab her tunic. 

“Will there be more pirates there, Isabela?” Merrill chirped as Fenris put his sword away. 

“Oh most definitely, kitten. Some of them may even have parrots and hooks.” Isabela winked before sauntering away, calling orders to the sailors. 

“I know you haven’t thought about it Hawke, but it may still be a good idea to not draw attention to yourself. Keep a low profile.” Varric advised as he approached. 

“You’ll help me of course, since you’re an expert on lying low.” Hawke smirked. Fenris couldn’t help chuckling. Varric looked wounded. 

“And you wonder why Bianca is my only one. She never sinks to jokes about my height.” Varric patted the crossbow affectionately. Hawke burst into laughter. 

“She is the silent and deadly type, isn’t she?” 

“I know exactly where we should go.” Isabela beamed as she passed them. “Clean beds, hot baths, and I think they even have dwarven serving girls to steal your heart, Varric!” 

Hawke released a wistful sigh, meeting Fenris’s eyes. “I would kill for a bath and a real bed.” 

 

Upon docking, it was discovered the place Isabela had talked up was in fact, a brothel. This surprised no one except Merrill, who was covering her eyes with her long, scarred fingers. Fenris wasn’t fooled, he’d seen her peek curiously at several men and women in various states of undress. Varric coughed into his hand as he watched a busty dwarf lead a Qunari man through doors on the opposite side of the hall. “I suppose they won’t look for the Champion of Kirkwall in a whorehouse.” 

“Usually they just expect to find my brother there.” Hawke mumurred, glaring at a woman whose eyes had lingered too long on Fenris. She had the hood of her cloak pulled up and was wearing a simple blouse and cotton skirt.  

“Ah, here we are.” Isabela approached with a handful of keys. “The mistress owes me a favor, so the baths are on the house. I’m having them bring tubs up to the room.” She passed a key to Hawke, then another to Varric. The last one she gave to Carver. 

“Where will I sleep?” Merrill asked innocently.

“With me, kitten! I’ve got entertainment all lined up.” She drawled, letting her gaze linger on the barely clothes form of a man reclining on a couch. 

“Oh, that seems…” 

“You can stay with me.” Carver jumped in, quickly, glaring at Isabela. “I’ll get them to bring up a cot.” 

“Does this look like the type of establishment that supplies cots?” Fenris asked dryly. Isabela’s eyes sparkled with glee. 

“Well, I think I’d still rather share with you.” Merrill commented brightly. “Isabela will be up late, and noisy. You will be much more considerate.” 

“Oh I bet he will.” Isabela giggled. Hawke made a gagging noise. Carver’s face had begun to flush from the neck up. 

“Did I miss something dirty?” Merrill asked. 

“On that note…” Varric winked, taking a step back. 

“We’re right behind you, dwarf.” Fenris grasped Hawke’s wrist gently with his gauntlets, pulling her away from the sputtering and laughter. Their rooms were directly across from each other, and Hawke burst into theirs gleefully. There was a bed, a real bed. Hawke jumped onto it in a fit of joy. Fenris shook his head, smirking as he shut the door. He appreciated the bed, but the cot on the ship was quite serviceable. Fenris knew better than to complain, there had been far too many times he’d slept on a cold floor in chains. Hawke, glorious Hawke, had never been in chains. She would never be in chains. 

“Join me?” Hawke asked, reaching up one smooth, soft hand. Her simple cotton skirt had bunched around her legs. She placed her staff beside the bed, stretching luxuriously. Her back arched off the bed and she made a small noise of pleasure. Fenris was there in a moment, feeling an unbearable heat in his loins. It had been so long since it was just the two of them, alone. 

“Always.” Fenris sunk down next to her, quickly unlatching one of his gauntlets and dropping it. His bare fingers traced up her bare arm, pausing at the place where the cloak was tied at her neck to tug it free. Hawke giggled, rising up to cup his cheek and pull his mouth to hers greedily. Her lips were so soft, so unlike all the hard things from his past. She yielded easily to his tongue, shivered lightly in his arms when he nipped her bottom lip. Her eyes were dark with desire. Fenris felt his self control begin to unravel. 

The knock at the door startled him enough to ignite his marks briefly. Hawke’s delicate mouth was full of new and inventive curses she’d learned on their trip. “If it’s them tell them to shove it right up their arse, I swear Fenris. I need you.” 

Fenris struggled even more to reign in the monster he always became when Hawke was near and begging for his touch. Several deep breaths and another knock was enough to drag him from the bed. He undid his other gauntlet as he walked.

“What?” He growled at the older woman on the other side of the door. She looked him up and down, put one hand on her hip and jutted forward. 

“Did ya ask for a bath or wot?” She demanded. Fenris struggled momentarily with her accent. 

“Yes, a bath.” He repeated, moving out of the way as the woman rolled in a large tub. She rolled up her shirt sleeves as the steam rose from the water already filling it. 

“The captain ordered the bath, but she ain’t say which girly you wanted.” The woman eyed Fenris hungrily. “I’ll take ye if ye haven’t decided which of ‘em can tickle your pickle.” 

“That’s...quite unnecessary.” Fenris stumbled awkwardly. Hawke was completely still on the bed, loathe to betray her presence. Probably enjoying the show, Fenris thought wryly. “I shall endeavor to go downstairs, later. After the, er, bath.” He gestured uselessly to the tub. 

“Have it yer way.” The older woman shrugged with a saucy wink, making her way out of the room. 

Fenris slammed the door shut and locked it. Hawke finally moved, her eyes sparkling with humor. “You could have made your presence known.” He swore as he began to undo the straps for his breastplate. 

“But then I would have missed your delightful reaction.” Hawke was smirking now, off the bed and investigating the tub. “Do you think we’ll both fit?” 

“I believe there have probably been many times where two people have fit in that tub.” 

Hawke’s nose wrinkled. “I hope the clean it.” 

Fenris chuckled, stripping off his leathers now. Hawke pulled the blouse over her head. His eyes roamed her skin greedily, drinking in her creamy Ferelden complexion. The skirt pooled on the floor, leaving her in smallclothes only. They joined the pile quickly enough and she stretched, smirking over her shoulder. Fenris was rapt as she reached her hands up to undo the long braid. 

“Stop.” He commanded, voice hoarse. Hawke’s hand froze and she smiled widely. “Let me do that.” 

She shrugged her small shoulders, eyes sparkling as Fenris approached. He gathered the braid up in his hands, twisting it around his fingers. It was tied with a red ribbon, a match for the one he wore tied around his gauntlet. He’d taken that from her bed stand after their first night. He’d been unable to stay, but he’d been unable to leave without a reminder that what had happened was real and not a fantasy. 

“You’re a tease, Reyna.” Fenris leaned in to kiss the lobe of her ear again. 

“You love it.” She answered, breathless. Fenris gave a sharp yank on the braid wrapped around his fist. Hawke’s head drew back, taut and helpless. He could see her pulse thrumming under the soft, supple skin. She whimpered and Fenris fought the urge to bend her over the tub and take her then. 

“I can tease too.” He threatened, undoing the red ribbon and slowly running his hands through her braid, loosening the strands. He dropped his lips to her shoulder, leaving a gentle kiss on her skin. He could feel her skin flushing, warmth cascading off of her. 

“Bath first, please?” She asked, breathless. 

“Of course, amata.” Fenris took a step back, offering an arm to steady Hawke as she climbed into the steaming water. She let out a small hiss as she sunk slowly beneath the surface, disappearing completely with just a trail of bubbles.

Fenris took the opportunity to unlace his trousers, pulling them off smoothly. Hawke broke the surface of the water with a splash and pushed her soaking hair from her face. “This tub is magnificent. I wish I’d have had one this large at the estate. We could have filled it with wine.” 

Fenris was offended by the thought of that much wine going to waste. He scoffed and she laughed. He climbed easily into the tub, loving the way the warm water lapped soothingly at his marks. Hawke had spread her legs, so Fenris was able to stretch out in the center, his feet caressing her inner thighs. 

She leaned back, tipping her head over the side of the tub, fingers drifting idly over the water. There was a tray of oils, washcloths, and soaps attached cleverly to the tub. Fenris picked up one of the small bottles, taking great pleasure in reading the label. He put it back and picked up the next one, labeled orange blossoms. He uncorked it and sniffed suspiciously. It smelt delightful, citrus and floral all at once. He tipped a few drops into the water and swirled it in. 

“That’s heavenly.” Hawke took a deep breath, eyes closing. “What was it?” 

“Orange blossom. I believe there were orange trees in Minrathous. I don’t remember them smelling like this, however.” He picked up one of the small soap cakes, shaped like a seashell. It did not smell as nice, he wrinkled his nose and tossed it unceremoniously onto the floor. The next one was shaped like a star. It smelled like almonds and vanilla, much better. He used it to lather up one of the cloths then began vigorously scrubbing his arms, careful not to apply too much pressure to the lyrium lines. 

“All we need is a duck.” Hawke hummed happily. Fenris paused, confused. 

“I assume you do not mean a live duck.” He clarified. 

“Maker, no!” She laughed, sinking further into the water. “A toy duck. Father used to whittle little toys for us. One of the most clever was a duck that floated in our baths. Bethany named him Puddles.” 

Fenris wondered if he had a favorite toy as a child, a small cheap thing he had named and taken everywhere as children were likely to do. He tried, not for the first time, to rattle the empty corners of his mind hoping for something to fall out. 

“What would you name a toy duck?” Hawke asked, picking up a cloth of her own and another bar of soap. 

“I...I don’t know.” Fenris admitted. He felt momentarily ashamed of his lack of experience, how could a broken creature like him have ever named children’s toys? 

“I’d have named it Quakers.” Hawke ran the cloth down her chest, over her perfect breasts. 

“I shall endeavor to think of something equally clever.” Fenris promised. 

The only sound for a few moments was water sloshing as they cleaned up, but when Fenris moved up to his hair, Hawke stopped him with a touch, leaning forward. “May I?”

“Wash my hair?” Fenris questioned cautiously. She was biting her lip again, nodding almost shyly. 

“It’s degrading.” Fenris spat the words out immediately. Hawke didn’t flinch. 

“To me or you?” She asked softly. 

“You. You’re not a slave, I’m not going to demand you wash my hair.” 

“You didn’t demand.” She was soft and gentle now, her hands on the edge of the tub, close but not touching him anymore than she had to in the narrow tub. “I offered. I want to. I love your hair, I love you. Can I show you?” 

Fenris took a deep breath and eyed Hawke warily. “You want to?” 

Hawke nodded and Fenris tried to relax his shoulders. He gritted his teeth and nodded, just once. This was how Hawke was, always pushing boundaries he didn’t know he had. She would be gentle, she would be patient. She gently took the soap from his hand and smiled triumphantly.

“Can you get your hair wet, please?” She asked sweetly, working the soap into a lather between her fingers. She was kneeling over him now, Fenris was able to slink beneath the water and come back up, water dripping into his eyes. 

Hawke leaned close, hesitating for a moment with her lips a hair's breadth from his. She was giving him time to pull away, but he leaned in, meeting her sweet lips. He closed his eyes as she moved away, gripping the edge of the tub tightly with both hands.

“I’m going to start now, okay?” She asked. Fenris nodded. How ridiculous, he thought to himself. He was acting like she was going to torture him. If he was less broken, more a man than a wild animal, this would be nothing. Her touch was light, but sure. This wasn’t the first time she had washed someone’s hair. Had she done this for Bethany or Carver when they were small? Her fingers rubbed in small circles, creating a rich lather. It actually… felt nice. 

Fenris opened his eyes hesitantly and was greeted with a marvelous sight, Hawke’s breasts were right in front of his eyes. They were the perfect size to fit in his hands, and her nipples so sensitive that they were already pebbled and hard. Water ran in rivulets down the valley between her breasts, over the slight curve of her stomach, back into the water covering her waist. If he got to enjoy this view, having his hair washed was something he could get used to very quickly. He leaned forward to let his tongue catch a drop of water. Hawke jumped in surprise. “Maker’s arsehole, Fenris!” 

He didn’t feel particularly guilty for startling her, but he tried his best to look contrite. He lifted his hands from the rim of the tub and gripped her waist. “Is there anything I can do help?” He asked as he used his tongue to flick one hard nipple. His erection was back with a vengeance, pressing into Hawke’s thigh. 

“Let me finish!” She squeaked. There was certainly something satisfying about making Hawke fumble with the soap and squeak. He moved to the other nipple to do it again. She swore and Fenris let one hand creep up to grasp the other breast. 

“Yes, we’re done.” Hawke declared, throwing the soap into the water. “Rinse it out, and take me to bed.” She demanded with a pout. 

“For you, anything.” Fenris growled. He ducked beneath the water as quickly as he could, shaking out his hair as he surfaced, standing and pulling Hawke up with him. She giggled as he scooped her up into his arms, stepping out of the tub and tossing her gently onto the bed. He was on top of her in a moment, her flushed and wet body sliding against his. 

“Tell me what you want, Reyna.” He commanded, holding himself above her with one arm as his other skimmed her side lightly. Her fingers tangled in his wet hair and she arched her hips toward his. 

“You know what I want.” She purred, rolling her hips. Fenris grabbed her wrist, then the other and pinned her to the bed. 

“Say it.” He commanded. Hawke’s lips pressed into a thin line and Fenris couldn’t help but grin. He loved when she was difficult, loved when she made him torment her. His hand dipped down between her thighs, tracing around her scalding hot center. She wriggled under him, breath coming in gasps. He paused, looking down at her and raising one eyebrow, nudging her legs apart with his knee. She stubbornly remained silent. He traced one finger down her inviting slit, feeling her shudder under him. 

He took one nipple in his mouth as he slid a finger into Hawke. She moaned, loudly. “Damnit, Fenris.” She swore. 

He ignored her, letting his tongue tease her hard nipple while his finger slowly pumped in and out. “Kaffas, Reyna.” He growled as he pulled back. “You’re soaked.” 

Hawke blushed, the perfect peach color on her pale skin. He bent back down, using his teeth to nip at the perfect bud. Her sheath tightened on his finger. He laughed darkly, pulling his finger from her and working his way to the small bundle of nerves. His first touch made her stiffen. The second made her squeak again. 

He alternated his tongue and teeth on her nipples, moving from one to the other. He circled her clit slowly, brushing against it gently. Then he would speed up, only to pull back when she began to moan and squirm. She was panting now, flushed and wanting and so needy. He began moving his fingers quickly again, letting go of her breast to lean back and watch her as she writhed. He plunged two fingers into her wetness. 

“Yes! Fenris!” She called out, back arching off the bed. He pushed her mercilessly, until she was right there. Her eyes were shut, bottom lip in her teeth again, legs spread lewdly… then he pulled away again just before she could explode. She made a sound that was almost a sob of desperation. 

“Fenris please!” She yelled. “Maker, I need you Fenris!” 

“What do you want, Reyna?” He asked, one last time, slowly circling her clit with his thumb. 

“You!” She moaned. “I need your cock. Please Fenris!” 

If he hadn’t been stuck on a ship in close quarters with no privacy for over a week, he would have made her beg longer. But he needed her as badly as she needed him. He let go of her wrists and pulled her legs up over his shoulders, guiding his hard manhood into her sopping wet center. She clutched at the sheets, mewling as he stretched her. 

“Like this?” He asked, sinking into her.

“Fenris! Maker!” She moaned incoherently. Words left Fenris as well as her muscles clamped down on him. He rubbed her clit as he began to slide in and out of her. Her name was falling from his lips like the Chant, along with every endearment in Tevene he could think of. She was calling for him, his name constant as well as oaths and pleas to the Maker. She tensed suddenly, letting out a primal sound that he stole with a kiss, leaning over her and swallowing her moans as she climaxed and his thrusts became uneven, the rhythm off, before he followed her and he just remembered to roll over before he collapsed on top of her. They lay, side by side, breathing ragged. 

“ENCORE!” He heard Isabela cheer loudly from outside the room. Applause started and Hawke groaned. Fenris, for his part, wasn’t shamed.


	3. Wicked Rumors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric, Merrill, and Carver escape an awkward situation with a trip to the market and to listen to rumors of what has happened and is happening in Kirkwall.

Varric had seen his share of awful and weird since meeting Hawke. First, there was the disastrous Deep Roads expedition. Bartrand’s betrayal had caused Hawke to spiral into a frenzy of anger. She’d shot three fireballs at the heavy Dwarven door before Fenris had grabbed her arms and yelled that she was insane and going to set them all on fire. Anders had then threatened Fenris for daring to touch Hawke, Fenris had threatened to rip Ander’s heart out, and it was left to Hawke and Varric to figure out a plan. He had briefly wished only Hawke and Carver had accompanied the expedition, until Carver started coughing and Anders came to the rescue, much to Fenris’s displeasure.   
He’d had to help pick Hawke up off the ground as she begged Anders to save the thing that had been Leandra Hawke. He’d never heard a shriek of grief like that before and he never wanted to again.   
Then, the Qunari attacked because Isabela had never learned to respect basic property rights. That ended with a duel to the death in front of a headless Viscount and all the nobility in Kirkwall. He had been sure the whole story was over the moment the blade sank through Hawke’s abdomen. Maker, the bastard had lifted the sword up with Hawke on it. He’d felt frozen with fear and it was entirely Daisy and Aveline that had restrained Blondie and Broody from flinging themselves in after Hawke. Anders had given Daisy a bloody nose for her trouble. Apparently, the Arishok had never learned that a mage’s staff wasn’t necessarily needed to perform magic, and Hawke’s flaming palm to his face had been enough for him to drop the sword and for Hawke to slide off. The little woman had picked up the Arishok’s huge sword and slayed him with it, plunging it into his throat as he promised to return. It had been glorious, even though he always left off the part where Hawke fainted dead away as soon as the Knight Commander declared her Champion.   
There was an Orlesian party turned assassination attempt with an elf turned Qunari. A magister in the Hanged Man (that had been exactly the last place he’d ever expected that to happen), a high dragon in the Bone Pit (slightly more expected, and he’d told Hawke the mine was a terrible idea), and a haunted mansion where he’d killed his brother.   
Hawke unsealed a darkspawn that talked and claimed to have started the blights, then they killed him. Shit, he still wasn’t entirely sure himself that one had really happened. Maybe that should be the title of his book - shit you can’t believe by Varric Tethras. He’d always managed to write all about it to Bianca. She still claimed to love his stories, even though she was convinced they were half fairy tales. Bianca used to say you couldn’t bullshit another compulsive liar. Maker’s tits, he missed her.   
This time, he was having a harder time beginning. He’d been turning the words over in his head for days, anticipating a quiet moment to sit and write to her. Remember Blondie? Well funny story…   
She’d hear about it soon, if she hadn’t already, and she’d be worried. He needed to get this done. He could at least end with the happy news that she didn’t need to worry, everyone was still alive including Blondie. He couldn’t decide if that made it better or worse. He tapped the edge of the quill against the paper, thinking. He was startled by a loud moan, close. Andraste’s arse, was a whore plying her trade right outside his door? Leave it to Isabela to…  
“Damnit, Fenris!” He heard Hawke dissolving into a torrent of profanities. Ah, well, this was supremely awkward. Maybe they’d quiet down, he thought wistfully. He wasn’t sure if they were usually loud or not, but Fenris was the strong silent type…  
There was another loud, breathy moan and a giggle. Fenris may be, Varric thought, but Hawke most definitely wasn’t. He couldn’t sit here and listen to this, as good as the material may be if he ever decided to finish his romance serial. That was Hawke, and she was like the little sister he’d never particularly wanted. His letter to Bianca would have to wait. He grabbed his coat and crossbow and opened the door. Down the hall, he could just catch a glimpse of Carver ushering Daisy around the corner.  
“Are you certain we shouldn’t check on them? I’ve never heard Hawke sound like that.” Daisy asked, concern coloring her voice. Varric couldn’t help but laugh.   
“Damn! Is that them?” Isabela poked her head from another door, looking as delighted as he’d ever seen her.   
“So it seems.” He could hear Hawke beginning to chant Fenris’s name and he was feeling very uncomfortable. “You coming, Rivaini?”  
“And miss this?” She asked incredulously as Fenris finally let out a moan to match Hawke’s. “That’s my girl.” There was a hint of unmistake pride in Isabela’s voice.  
Varric shook his head and moved quickly down the hallway, catching up to Carver and Daisy as they made their way to the brother’s front door. “Room for a third?”   
Carver’s face was as red as a tomato and he was hiding his eyes behind his hand. Merrill had looped her arm through his elbow and smiled brilliantly at Varric. “Varric! Of course you can tag along. Did you take a bath? I did, but Carver didn’t get a chance. He said he needed some air first.”   
“And where was Junior while you were bathing, Daisy?” Varric asked slyly.   
“Maker, stop.” Carver begged.   
“The woman who brought the tub said it was big enough for two, but Carver said his legs were too long.” Merrill continued blithely. “He sat on the bed with his eyes closed, he said he had a headache. I think that’s why we needed to come outside.”   
“You know, Junior, Daisy makes a great headache remedy. Tastes like shit, but does the trick.”   
“Oh, yes!” Merrill exclaimed. “I’m sure I can find the herbs here! I’ll make it for you tonight.”   
“Thank you, Varric. You’re so thoughtful.” Carver spoke forcefully through gritted teeth. Varric smirked.   
“Oh, you know me. I’m a giver.”   
“Varric is very generous!” Merrill tipped her head to look up at Carver. “I used to go to the gardens in Hightown and pick flowers, and I suppose I made some people angry. Varric paid them all for their flowers though, so I could go in whenever I wanted and pick whatever I wanted. Then Hawke let me plant the seeds in her garden.” Merrill reached up and tucked a braid behind her ear. “But all that hard work is gone now, isn’t it?”   
“I’m sorry, Merrill.” Carver placed his hand on her in the crook of his elbow. “Maybe...someday we’ll find you a garden of your own.”  
“Oh! That would be lovely, wouldn’t it?”   
“Anything for you, Daisy.” Varric winked. “Let’s go see if we can find those herbs and some news from Kirkwall.”   
The market was easy enough to find, and on such a pretty afternoon it was packed. “Keep your coin purses close.” Varric warned as they pushed through the crowd. He could smell roasting meat and spices. His stomach grumbled.   
“Oooo, look!” Merrill pointed, tugging Carver along in her wake. Varric shook his head as he made a right turn, following his nose. There was a babble of different languages and laughter. He found himself in front of a tavern that felt so familiar, his throat grew tight. All it needed was a swinging sign featuring an upside down man.   
Varric entered jauntily, a little whistle on his lip. A beautiful dark skinned girl with dark bouncing curls smiled brightly at him and gave a signal that she’d be right over as he settled at a small table near the window. He pulled out his journal and his traveling pens from his coat pocket.   
“What can I get for you Ser?” The girl was beside him now, white teeth flashing in a grin. Well, there was an improvement from surly Nora.   
“I’ll take whatever smells so delicious and a mug of the best dwarven ale you have on stock.” Varric dug into his purse and pulled out three silvers. “Will this do?”   
“That’s mama’s stew.” The girl scooped the coins up as quick as Isabela was prone to. “I’ll bring you a bowl and bread, and that fine ale.” She giggled, dancing away quick as a songbird.   
Varric chided himself for getting soft and spending too much coin on a simple meal because a pretty girl gave him a smile. Hawke had teased him often that Varric never could resist a pretty face, although he always had to ignore the long legs of humans to appreciate any of their pretty faces. Varric often responded that was why he’d pulled her and her tit of a brother out of the gutter.  
He looked at the simple, neat lines he’d been scribbling away at for weeks. This was the first draft of...something. He hadn’t meant to start writing a book when he’d scribbled down what happened at the Gallows. He had meant to write it down because no one was going to believe him. He hated to face it, but there was a fear that there was potentially more danger to Hawke and their merry band now than there ever had been before.   
Now, he thought there was a book there. He’d started to lay out the plot, the characters. He didn’t have a title, mostly because he was shit at titles, but maybe Isabela could come up with something. That would require admitting he was writing Hawke’s biography and that wasn’t something he particularly wanted to do at the moment.  
The stew was served with a saucy wink and a show of cleavage. Varric let it cool as he sipped his ale, sighing in contentment. Maker, it was grand to get off that damn boat.   
“Have you heard about that Marcher business?” Varric heard a man ask another. He sat his ale down and made a great show of reading the lines scribbled in his journal.   
“Heard a madman massacred an entire chantry full of faithful Andrastians, then let the whole damn city burn around his ears.”   
“Come off it.” The other man said. “One man couldn’t do all that.”   
“The say he was possessed by a rage demon. Y’know, they’re made of fire.”   
“I heard it was the Champion of Kirkwall.” Varric felt his blood turn to ice. “A merchant on the docks said she helped him slaughter all the templars in Kirkwall and she turned all the mages into abominations. She’s a mage too, y’know.”   
“Maker’s balls. Turned on by their own Champion? Serves those Marchers right.” The man guffawed, clinking glasses with the other. “Beaten by a woman. Only a Marcher.”   
“Mum says she’s no ordinary woman.” The pretty serving girl joined in, gathering up pint glasses at an empty table. “She defeated the biggest and baddest of those Qunari! She must be eight feet tall! And Mum says she got her name because she used to climb up trees and pull hawks right out of their nests to eat their eggs.”   
Varric couldn’t help the smile on his lips. He was going to have to remember that rather inventive lie for one of his stories. It would make Hawke laugh until she snorted for air and begged him to stop.   
“What’s so special about hawks’ eggs for all the trouble?” One of the men asked.   
The girl smiled slyly. “Why they’re aphrodisiacs, of course.”   
Oh, Varric was definitely writing this down. 

Varric spent the afternoon listening to the gossip around his ears and editing his draft while enjoying the delicious stew and ale. Occasionally, he would catch a glimpse of Merrill and Carver. Merrill could spend all day wandering a market, he knew that from experience and the twine crisscrossed around the Lowtown Bazaar when she’d first arrived. They looked like they were having a ball, and far be it for Varric to interfere in Isabela’s matchmaking scheme.   
Some of the gossip was concerning, such as the rumor that the templars had conscripted half the young men in the city for recruits. Others were more ludicrous, that the Knight Commander had turned into a dragon for example. The most important thing, it seemed, was nobody had launched a search yet for anyone. Maker, Blondie had better take advantage of the delay.   
Maker, Blondie had better be thanking his lucky stars every day his heart was still in his chest. What had he been thinking, cornering Fenris on those steps? Varric had been convinced that he was about to see one of his friends kill the other. He’d only prayed helplessly that Hawke didn’t look behind her and see what was about to happen.   
Fenris had let him go, though. The same man that had to be persuaded not to murder his sister, no matter how much she deserved it, had let the man who nearly got them all killed go. The fact that the man was Anders had to have made it even harder to walk away, because Anders had always wanted Hawke’s heart. Unfortunately for Blondie, that heart had always belonged to someone else. Varric couldn’t be that upset on Blondie’s behalf. Fenris had fucked up a fair few times, but Fenris loved Hawke the way she deserved, the way Anders with his causes never could.   
Varric had spent the prior night making amends to Corff and Nora and paying random loiterers to clean the blood off the floors in the Hanged Man. Varric had finally thought he’d made amends and spread enough coin to make everyone forget a dead magister, several dead slavers, half a dozen busted chairs, and scorch marks that were never coming out of the floor boards.  
Thought being the key word. He was still enjoying his lunch when he heard Nora going off her head downstairs.   
“Always something with you lot! If it isn’t the Dalish elf picking my herbs or the Rivaini whore…”   
“I live here!”   
“Knifing her lovers, then it’s…”   
Varric was already at his door, peering down the steps. Who in the Maker’s name was stupid enough to return to the Hanged Man so soon after their latest escapade? He was betting it was Hawke, but as he ambled down the stairs he was surprised to see Fenris, looking surprisingly chastened.   
“Damn slavers and Tevinters throwing fireballs and summoning demons, because that’s exactly what this place needs!” Nora screeched.   
“I apologize.” Fenris muttered, looking at the scorch mark on the floor. “I had...hoped to assist with the clean up.”   
“I already handled it, Broody. You can reimburse me costs later.” Varric was already counting out silvers. He handed a bunch to Nora. “Go get yourself something to drink, I’ll handle this one.” He jerked his head toward Fenris.   
Nora glowered for another moment before snatching the coins out of Varric’s hand and stomping off. Varric looked up at Fenris. “Andraste’s tits, Broody! You don’t have any other way to celebrate today other than causing a scene?”   
“To be honest, I find myself unsure what to do.” He answered with a grim shrug.   
“I can give you some ideas.” Isabela suggested wickedly from her seat at the bar. “Hawke has been waiting long enough for you to…”   
“Enough.” Fenris cut in with an edge of desperation. Varric took pity on the elf.   
“I’d be honored to be the first dwarf to take all your coin as a non-fugitive. Let’s have a game of diamondback.”   
Fenris followed Varric upstairs, settling in his usual spot. Harris dug out the cards and handed them to the elf to shuffle as he poured out two measures of his good Starkhaven whiskey. He handed one glass to Fenris and held his up in a silent toast.   
“To freedom.” Fenris offered, sipping his whiskey after clicking the glass to Varric’s. He then dealt the cards out with a unique and determined focus only Fenris was capable of. Varric immediately discarded, shaking his head with a sigh.   
“Really no plans, Broody? I thought you'd been planning this for awhile.”   
“I have not often thought of what happens next.” He admitted. “There is… someone I must speak to soon. I should have done so before.”   
Varric snorted, fanning out his cards and giving Fenris a look that said the evasiveness wasn't working at all. He allowed his eyes to point to the red ribbon tied around Fenris’s gauntlet. “Better late than never, I suppose.”   
Fenris dropped his eyes, shifting his cards. That usually was a tell that Fenris had a shut hand, but it could have been the conversation. Fenris discarded in silence as Varric patiently waited. He didn't have to wait long. “Hawke is… everything. Varric, how do I…?” Fenris trailed off.   
“Broody, I recommend starting just like that. Begging forgiveness may also be warranted.” Varric smirked. “Luckily, she's as mad for you as she was three years ago.”   
“I have nothing to offer, still. I’m little better off than I was then.” Fenris glowered at the table. “She would be mad to accept…”   
There was a commotion at the door as Hawke appeared, carrying a large basket. “Varric! Fenris!” She chirped. “Orana made peace offerings for everyone here, those delicious little pastries with the...oh, are you leaving?”   
Fenris had stood, his hand on the back of his chair. “No.” He said after a moment. “No, do you need me to take that?” A small smile tugged at his lips as he held his hands out for the large basket and Varric reclined back in his chair. They’d be alright, he thought. And if Fenris messed up again, well, Bianca had already stayed her hand once.   
Varric stepped out of the tavern, raising his hand to signal to Carver and Merrill across the emptying square. “Are you lovebirds ready to head back?”   
“We’re not lovebirds!” Carver protested.   
“No, lovebirds are much smaller and brightly colored.” Merrill added. Varric couldn’t help grinning. “I got the herbs we needed, and some other things! Do you think Fenris will like a scarf? I got yarn, I need to thank him for making sure I was okay in the alienage.”   
“I’m sure he’ll love it, Daisy.” And Varric was sure Hawke would force him to wear it at least once, which Varric needed to see. “Hear any news?”   
“Nothing reliable.” Carver huffed, steering Daisy clear of a suspicious puddle. “I’m sure my sister will want to hear it anyway.”   
“If we can drag her out of bed.” Varric added wickedly.   
“Oh no, you don’t think she’s unwell from the boat do you?” Merrill inquired. “I was ill for weeks when we came from Ferelden, but the trip was much better this time I thought.”  
“I’m sure Fenris is taking good care of her.” Varric grinned as Carver made a gagging sound. 

As it turns out, Fenris was outside the brothel when they arrived. He glared, crossing his arms over his chest as they approached. “Hawke was concerned, I’ve been trying to prevent her from taking off after you for near an hour now.”   
“Sorry.” Carver grumbled. “Didn’t know how long you two would keep going like rabbits for.”   
Fenris’s eyes widened almost imperceptibly and a faint red began to creep up his neck.   
“Oh! She isn’t very worried, is she?” Merrill fretted. “Is she upstairs?”   
“There is a private room in the back of the tavern, we have commandeered it for supper.” Fenris directed with an incline of his head. Merrill ducked past Fenris and Carver elbowed his way in after her, leaving Varric and Fenris.   
“Did you hear any news?” Fenris asked.  
“Andraste’s arse, there’s news everywhere and none of it is worth a copper.” Varric admitted. “I heard that the Maker exploded the chantry, that the mages are slaughtering babes in the street, that Meredith was murdered by darkspawn, that the whole thing began because the templars made the Champion tranquil…” Fenris stiffened and clutched his gauntlets into a fist. “Things we all know aren’t true, Broody. Nobody seems to have a clue what in the Maker’s name is happening in Kirkwall.”   
“No one is searching for her?” Fenris scanned the crowd passing by warily.   
“Not yet at least. Maybe not ever.” Varric finished hopefully.  
“We are never that lucky, dwarf.” Fenris sighed. Varric had to admit, Broody had a point. 

Hawke was holding court much the same as she always had, her legs stretched out before her and resting on the edge of the table. Isabela was patiently explaining a dirty joke to Merrill and Carver was rolling his eyes as he whittled away at a block of wood with his penknife. When Fenris and Varric entered, Hawke’s eyes went immediately to the door. Her shoulders relaxed by a degree and she smiled warmly. “I thought you’d both abandoned me.”   
“You wound me!” Varric cried, placing his hand over his heart. “I may drink too much…”   
“And lie.” Fenris supplied helpfully as he placed his sword by the door.   
“But I’d never abandon as fair a lady as yourself. Particularly one that can light me on fire with a twitch of an eyebrow.” Varric finished. Hawke laughed and Fenris’s eyes flicked helplessly to the source of the sound, his small smile back.   
“Well, Ser Dwarf.” She replied mockingly. “Will I be able to leave this brothel tomorrow, or should I sign up to work?”   
Carver swore and nearly cut his finger open. Fenris rolled his green eyes. “At least I know you’d be suitable to this line of employment after what I heard this afternoon…” Varric wiggled his eyebrows.   
Hawke groaned, tilting her head back over her chair. “See sweetness!” Isabela crowed. “I told you would could make a fair bit of coin if we allowed you to provide some lessons to the girls…”   
Fenris settled in the chair next to Hawke. “No.” He said simply.   
“Anyway…” Carver cut in before Isabela could continue to be inappropriate.   
“It seems that nobody has any idea what is happening in Kirkwall.” Varric lowered his voice, coming close to the table. “It also seems no one is looking for us, yet. I think we’re safe enough here for now.”   
“Do you think we can return?” Hawke asked hopefully. Varric shook his head immediately.  
“No. I think we should stay here, for the time being. I can have one of my...many cousins from the Merchant’s Guild...” Varric smiled. “Rent a home in the city. We can blend in, and we’ll be close enough to hear news from Kirkwall as soon as anyone.”  
Hawke nodded, considering. She chewed on her bottom lip and stared into the fire. “I think it’s a fine idea.” Isabela added. “I’ll need to run some short jobs for the crew and coin, but I’ll be able to keep Llomeryn as our home port and stay near. I’ll never be more than a day or two away, and in port often between.”   
“The market is lovely, Hawke!” Merrill beamed. “And Varric’s cousin can get us a house with a garden. No one here even called me a knife-ear today!”   
Varric didn’t say anything, but he was pretty sure that was the influence of the imposing Grey Warden who had been over Merrill’s shoulder all day. “I’ll need to go back to the Free Marches, sister. Back to the Wardens.” Carver’s eyes burned as he stared into the fire as well. “But at the first sign of danger to you or yours, I’ll be able to be here in a week.”   
“Fenris?” Hawke asked, her eyes slipping to him.   
“I will remain by your side.” He answered simply, green eyes meeting her blue ones. Varric’s fingers itched to grab his quill and write this down. “As always.”   
Hawke smiled, shrugging her small shoulders. “Well, tomorrow I want to explore our new home. Merrill can show me the market. And hopefully we can find somewhere that isn’t a brothel to sleep.”   
“It will be my first job.” Varric bowed playfully.   
“Well, I may stay here.” Isabela pouted. “They know how to have fun.”   
“Rivaini, if we stay here we may find out where you learned all your tricks.” Varric comforted, settling himself.   
“Hardly likely.” Isabela grinned. “You’d have to do a tour of all the brothels in Thedas to learn that.”   
“How many brothels are in Thedas?” Merrill asked. Isabela began to launch into a descriptive verbal tour of her favorites. Hawke leaned close to Varric and whispered into his ear. “Any word of Anders?”   
Varric leaned back, not allowing his expression to falter. Hawke had chosen her moment well, all eyes were on Isabela as she mimed a particularly large breasted woman. Varric knew Broody wouldn’t like this question, though, and he was in no mood to spoil the night. He shook his head and Hawke sighed, whether in relief or exasperation Varric couldn’t tell.


	4. First Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric, Hawke, Merrill, and Isabela celebrate the first day of the New Year.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Smut halfway through - NSFW)

Reyna was sitting in front of the fire at the Amell estate. Her long black hair hung loose, cascading down her back like silk. Fenris felt his heart lift as he saw her, something uncoiling in his stomach.   
“Where have you been?” He asked as he approached. “Fasta vass, I’ve looked everywhere…”   
“The Knight Commander commanded my presence in the Gallows.” She said, politely. “I am sorry my absence troubled you.”  
Something gripped Fenris’s heart like ice. He now saw Anders melt out of the shadows in the corner, blue sparks crackling in his skin in a way that made the lyrium engraved in Fenris’s skin burn. “We told you what would happen.” Justice’s voice boomed.   
“Reyna.” Fenris called helplessly.  
The thing that used to be Hawke looked up, a polite smile fixed on Hawke’s face that didn’t reach her blank eyes. Those eyes had used to glimmer and spark with amusement and wit. “Can I assist you?” It asked with Hawke’s mouth. An angry red sunburst was branded onto her pale forehead.   
“What have they done to you?” He fell to his knees in anguish.   
“Have I caused you pain?” Not Hawke asked, standing. She reached for the sash on her robe. “You used to enjoy taking pleasure with my body. Would you like to do so again?”   
Fenris screamed. 

He did not wake up screaming. That was thanks to years of practice as a slave. He did wake up clutching at the sheets, his heart hammering. Fenris opened his eyes and stared at the canopy above him, taking deep ragged breaths. When he reached next to him, the space was empty and cold but the whole room still smelled of citrus and vanilla, like Hawke. He shoved himself up, looking around. “Reyna.” He croaked. There was no answer, so he got up from the bed. He swayed for a moment, before reach for a pair of loose cotton breeches and tugging them up over his hips.   
Varric had been good on his word, finding them a townhouse not far from the market. It was, as Hawke said upon first seeing it, a “fixer-upper”, but they’d spent three months cleaning and decorating. It almost felt as if they’d lived there for years. There was a chilly breeze coming from the window, cooling the water in the basin considerably. Fenris splashed some on his face then closed and latched the window.   
He shrugged on a tunic, emerging from the room he shared with Hawke. It led out onto a gallery that overlooked the great hall. He could see Varric standing below him, a stack of letters in his hand and Hawke beside him. She was in another simple cotton skirt, her hair coiled and piled on her head. A bodice cinched in her waist and emphasized her perfect breasts. There was a brush of white on her face and her skirt. Was it flour? Hawke was holding a small package and two letters in her hand.   
“Still nothing from Bianca?” Hawke asked softly. Fenris doubted he would have heard at all if his ears weren’t so sensitive. She laid a hand gently on Varric’s arm.   
“Nothing.” Varric said, shaking his head. “Well, it was good while it lasted, right?” He tried to grin and Fenris could see how much it cost him.   
“I can’t say I’ll miss foiling the occasional assassination attempts.” Hawke joked weakly. “Are you certain she’s gotten your letters? Maybe something has happened..”   
“A contact says she has and that she is fine.” Varric shrugged. “It was selfish to attempt to make her life more complicated. It was bad enough having an affair with a sort-of criminal. I think I actually am now.”   
“Varric, I’m sorry.” Varric looked up at her, sadly smiling.   
“Don’t worry about it, Hawke. You’re worth it, you’re the best friend I’ve ever had. I just need some air.” He sighed, dropping his head and shaking it. He handed her the stack of letters and made his way outside. Fenris waited until the thick door banged shut before making his way down the stairs.   
Hawke’s eyes flicked up. “Happy First Day, Fenris.” She smiled brightly, tossing the letters and package onto the table in the hall. She reached for him and he obliged easily, pulling her close. “I suppose you heard all of that.”   
“I heard nothing I will mention later.” Fenris promised. “It is not your fault, she is a fool to throw him away just because his fortunes may have changed.” It felt better to have Hawke in his arms, breathing and so very alive. He reached one hand up to brush her hair off her forehead, rejoicing in the unblemished skin. He dropped a small kiss there, then pulled back with an accusing glare. “You weren’t in bed.”   
“Well, you can’t keep me there all the time.” Hawke wrinkled her nose. “Especially on a holiday.”   
“I forgot it was First Day.” Fenris admitted. “Is that why you are covered in...whatever this is?”   
“Flour.” Hawke laughed as Fenris ran his thumb over the smudge on her cheek. “I left Merrill unsupervised in the kitchen.”   
“You should probably accept that whatever you were creating is now a lost cause.”   
“It was probably a lost cause before we started, I seem to have forgotten all of Orana’s lessons.” Hawke retorted.   
Fenris dropped his forehead to Hawke’s, leaning against her. She stilled, allowing her hands to tangle in his shirt. “Are you alright?” She asked.  
“I am well.” He answered. He didn’t want to put the nightmares that had been plaguing him into words, there was a fear that it would cause them to be real. How many had there been in the last month? At least twice a week, all involving Hawke.   
“Hawke!” Merrill yelled from the kitchen, he felt Hawke sigh.   
“Save me?” She asked sweetly. Fenris chuckled.  
“Perhaps later.” 

There was a letter for him, which pleased him immeasurably. It was from Donnic, short and almost as dry as a guardsman’s report but the thought counted very much. The rest of the letters were to Hawke and Varric, with one letter and the package for Merrill. Fenris was fairly certain that he recognized Carver’s scrawl, so different from Hawke’s neat print. Fenris then worked his way to the kitchen, which was almost unrecognizable it was such a mess. There was flour everywhere and in the middle, Hawke and Merrill laughing. Despite the disaster, something smelled delicious.   
“They won’t be pretty, but they will be edible.” Hawke pronounced, throwing the dish towel on the counter.   
“And will the kitchen recover?” Fenris couldn’t believe it, how in the Maker’s name had they gotten flour on the ceiling.   
“It may be a loss.” Hawke was trying to keep a straight face, but was struggling.   
“Have you informed Merrill of her package?” Fenris asked.  
“No!” Merrill exclaimed. “Who sent me a package?”   
“My brother, I suppose.” Hawke mumbled.   
Merrill made a sharp noise of excitement and clambered past Fenris. Fenris turned to watch her go, only to feel a soft impact on the side of his face as Merrill raced down the hall. Hawke dissolved into giggles as he reached up, brushing white powder off his face. “I now see how the kitchen was destroyed.”   
“I think it’s an improvement.” Hawke responded wickedly, scooping up more flour. She tossed it again, but Fenris was prepared this time. He dodged most of the flour, scooping up his own handful and tossing it. Hawke herself missed most of it, twisting out of the way just at the last second. Fenris crossed the kitchen rapidly, pinning her hands down at her side. Hawke was breathless with laughter. “You should see your face!” Hawke was gleeful, eyes dancing in merriment.   
This was Hawke, the real Hawke. He pushed her back against the counter, seeking her mouth with his. Her lips were soft, parting under his. He nipped her bottom lip with his teeth and she gasped. “You’re as wanton as a demon.” He growled.   
“You’re the one pinning me to the counter.” Hawke countered. Fenris let go of her arms and wrapped his arms around her waist instead, pulling her closer. His throbbing erection brushed across her stomach as he swore and sought her lips again.   
“The door.” Hawke almost moaned, uselessly gesturing to it as she wrapped her legs around his waist, her skirt fell up her long legs. Fenris shifted his hands, grabbing her tight arse. She pressed against him, needy and desperate as her carried her, slamming his shoulder into the door to close it. He then pushed her against the opposite side, mouth trailing down to feel her pulse thrumming in her neck.   
Hawke was pushing at her skirt, jerking the fabric up to her hips. “Fenris…” She hissed as he nipped above her collar bone, her spine arching to press her breasts up toward him. They were still covered, and there was no way he’d be able to this material off the way they were. He couldn’t help admiring her cleavage, leaving a trail of kisses down the tops of her breasts. Hawke grabbed hold of his shoulders and he release on hold on her ass to trail a hand up her legs. What he found shocked him enough to make him stop cold. Hawke laughed low in her throat.   
“Maker, woman.” He growled, running his fingers across her slit. “You’re not wearing smalls.”   
“We need to do laundry.” Hawke admitted with a happy humming noise as he circled her clit. She was already wet, the perfect picture of desire between him and the door.   
“Festis bei umo canavarum.” Fenris snarled.   
“The death of you, I know, I know.” Hawke moaned as Fenris slipped a finger into her wet folds. “I want you. Please.” She whimpered.  
Fenris snatched his hand back and fumbled with his breeches as Hawke whined at the loss of contact. His cock was free in a moment and he guided himself into Hawke slowly. She stretched to accept him, her hands grasping at his hair. He paused a moment to catch his breath in her shoulder, moving his hands to her thighs.   
“Fenris.” She imitated his growl in his ear, pulling him closer. He thrust up into her deeply, yanking a moan from her.   
“Say my name again.” He commanded, his lips at her delicate, fluttering pulse. He could feel her tightening on him.   
“Fenris…” She moaned, her hands moving back to his shoulders, using the leverage to lift herself up, then let herself fall against him. He smirked, pulling back and thrusting again. “Faster, please, Fenris…”   
It was all the permission he needed as he began to fuck her, cock delving deep inside and pulling almost the whole way out before sliding in again. Hawke’s moans were breathless and needy as Fenris took her. He adjusted to reach a finger between them and circle her clit. She almost screamed in pleasure, eyes rolling up.   
“I’m almost there.” He panted. “Wait, look at me.”   
It was a struggle, but her lyrium blue gaze met his. His hips jerked as he let the waves come over him. “Now.” He snarled rubbing her clit furiously. She bent like a bow, strong and taut,her sheath squeezing him like a vice as she cried out. He continued to pump into her until he was spent and she was limp in his arms. He leaned back away from the door, pulling her off his cock and close to his chest.   
“Amata.” He whispered to the top of her head.  
“Are you my amata as well?” She asked drowsily as they sank to the floor.   
“Amatus.” He corrected. “Because I am a man.”   
She snorted softly. “Don’t I know it.” Fenris smirked.   
“Wicked.” He murmured.   
“Amatus.” Hawke sighed softly. Fenris pulled her closer as his heart swelled. “Can I ask a favor?”   
“Anything.” Fenris responded warmly.   
“Help me clean this mess?”   
The laugh escaped him and surprised them both. Hawke smiled up at him, kissing his chin lightly. “In a moment.” He whispered. 

It took nearly two hours, but when Merrill and Varric both reappeared, the kitchen was spotless and the sweet rolls were cooling. Fenris and Hawke had even had a few moments to clean themselves up as well. This left Fenris reading quietly in front of the fireplace while remaining preparations were made. There was a growing sound of revelry outside, bawdy songs and drunken cheers as night fell.   
“Reminds me of First Day in Kirkwall.” Hawke sighed as she finally sat. She had changed into tight leather leggings that curved up her legs and a loose tunic. She held out a sweet roll to Fenris and he took it from her, inhaling the sweet sugar and butter scent. “Isabela says we can join in when she gets here.”  
“I hate to remind you that you may be a wanted woman.” Fenris cautioned. Hawke waved his concern away.   
“Rumors say Cullen has the city mostly under control now. And nobody is coming after me on First Day, Fenris.” She responded airily.   
Fenris refrained from saying it was exactly the time he would choose to go after someone. He would, of course, go out with them to keep watch for danger. Merrill sighed from the armchair, causing Varric to raise an eyebrow. She had a pile of discarded knitting on her lap.   
“Do you remember First Day in Ferelden, Hawke? There was always snow on the ground.” She asked wistfully.   
“It always snowed on First Day, without fail.” Hawke confirmed. “Big fluffy flakes.”   
“I’ve never seen the fascination with snow.” Varric commented. “Wet, cold, and dangerous? All of my least favorite things.”   
“It’s so pretty!” Merrill protested.   
“I can make it snow.” Hawke said absently, twirling her hair around her fingers. “I missed it so much our first few years in Kirkwall, I taught myself how to make snow instead of ice.”   
“Oh! Hawke, you are so brilliant!” Merrill exclaimed. “Can you do it now?”   
Hawke shot Fenris a brief look from under her eyelashes. “I don’t think so Merrill.”  
“Oh, please!” Merrill begged. “It isn’t First Day without the snow!”   
“Merrill…” Hawke started.   
“I have never seen the snow.” Fenris cut in. “It doesn’t snow in Seheron. I don’t know if it snows anywhere in Tevinter. The snow that occured in Kirkwall was mostly rain.” He stopped, looking at Hawke’s flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes. “I wouldn’t mind seeing it.”   
Merrill cheered and Varric groaned. “You’re certain, Fenris?” Hawke asked, leaning close.   
“I trust you.” He responded. She grinned.   
“You may regret that.” She teased. “After you see how cold snow is.”   
He shook his head and tilted his head to watch as she held out her small hand, palm toward the ceiling. There was a pull he felt in his lyrium markings as she called to her mana, it wasn’t unpleasant necessary but it always pulled at painful memories unless he was deep in battle. He shoved them down as a soft white glow appeared in Hawke’s hand. She allowed it to gather and grow. It lifted from her hand, forming into a small blizzard contained in an orb. He could see bits of white tossed in an internal tempest. Hawke was concentrating on it hard as it rose in the air.   
It occurred to him, not for the first time, that Hawke’s magic was beautiful. It was controlled and elegant, unlike Merrill’s which was as wild as a tempest, and the complete opposite of the oppressive and aggressive style favored by Anders. She took a deep breath in, her fingers coming together in her hand. Then she snapped her fingers.  
The orb unfurled into a cloud, the first dusting of flurries scattering in a circle around them as a soft, steady snow began to fall from the ceiling. Merrill jumped up, her hands out to either side. Varric was swearing, quickly gathering up his papers and quills. Hawke was smiling softly, her head tipped up as the snow fell into her dark hair and caught in her long eyelashes. Fenris lifted his hand up, palm up as the cool flakes landed. He examined their delicate patterns with fascination.   
“What do you think?” Hawke asked, looking at him with pursed lips.   
“Beautiful.” He breathed softly, brushing the flakes from Hawke’s hair.  
The front door banged open and Isabella swaggered into the room, looking up in bewilderment. “I don’t know how they do it where you’re from, but we don’t do snow on First Day in Llomeryn.” She scolded. “Turn it off, kitten.”   
“It wasn’t me!” Merrill twirled, a long chain falling out of her blouse. Isabela grabbed onto it, quick as a pickpocket.  
“What is this?” Isabela cooed. “What a pretty Griffon pendant. Now where did you get such a thing, kitten?”   
“Carver sent it to me!” Merrill sounded delighted. “He named it Feathers.”   
“Did he?” Isabela sounded equally delighted. “I’m surprised he didn’t call it little Carver. Granted, that’s probably what he calls his…”  
“Stop!” Hawke pleaded. “I don’t need to talk about this. Ever.”   
“Is it time to go now, Isabela?” Merrill asked.   
“I’ve come to collect you, yes.” Isabela doffed her hat and bowed. “Now, no staffs or huge ass swords.” She glared pointedly at Fenris.  
“You cannot possibly expect us to go unarmed.” Fenris protested.   
“You may borrow a dagger.” Isabela declared, pulling one on a sheath from her waist. “I call this one Suzanne after a girl in Antiva.” She caressed the dagger lovingly.   
“I’ve never fought with a dagger.” Fenris grumbled.   
“I’ll give you a hint, this is the pointy side. Slash at ‘em with it.” Isabela sighed at Fenris’s expression.   
“Handsome, you most likely won’t need to fight with a dagger tonight. Going out armed to the teeth is begging for trouble though.”   
“C’mon Broody, it’s not like you need the sword.” Varric persuaded.  
“Right! Magic fisting to the rescue.” Isabella grinned. Fenris shook his head and strapped the dagger around his waist. Isabela took Merrill’s arm, entwining their elbows together.   
“So...did Carver say anything else?” She asked slyly.   
“He won’t be able to come for First Day, but he hopes to get away soon. He says he’d rather be here.”   
“Of course he did, kitten.” Isabela purred.   
“He also said he’s heard a rumor the College of Enchanters is going to vote on independence.” Merrill whispered. “At their meeting next month. That would mean no more circles.”   
“Oh, I doubt it would be that easy, Kitten.” Isabela frowned. “But let’s not talk about that tonight.”   
Fenris offered his arm to Hawke, who took it with a saucy wink. “Are you chaperoning me tonight, Ser?”   
“I’m chaperoning both of you.” Varric piped up. “Now, after you.”   
Varric locked the door to the townhouse as they joined the crowd. There was music coming from the square, and when they emerged he saw a band and a space cleared out for dancing where over a dozen couples twirled. Isabela and Merrill were already there, out of control like a tornado as they swaggered across the floor. There were torches up high and garland strung between columns. Hawke was humming along with the music. Varric made a loud coughing noise and looked pointedly at Fenris, then Hawke, before melting into the crowd.   
“I think Varric wants me to ask you to dance.” He leaned down to whisper in her ear.   
“Honestly, Fenris, I don’t know how to dance.” Hawke admitted shyly. “After getting the estate back, mother tried to teach me but I couldn’t be bothered.”   
“I don’t know if I know how.” Fenris responded. “I may remember a bit, if we try.” Sometimes, his memory worked like that. He had always known how to hold a greatsword, even when he woke with his markings. He also knew how to peel a pomegranate, polish his sword, have sex, and braid hair. He imagined these were skills from that great void known as before. Perhaps they were things he’d done so often that they were ingrained in his muscle memory.   
“We certainly can’t be worse than those two.” Hawke inclined her head toward Merrill and Isabela.   
“A high bar you set for us, Lady Hawke.” Fenris breathed, offering his hand. She placed hers in his and he lifted it to his lips, smirking as he kissed the back of the hand that had conjured snow.   
“Well, Lord Fenris.” She teased as he pulled her towards the dancers. “I do like to set reasonable expectations.”   
Fenris shook his head and set his hand on Hawke’s waist. She placed her hand on his shoulder and entwined her other fingers with his. She hesitated a beat, nervous. “We can still change our mind.”   
“Is the Champion of Kirkwall afraid of a dance?” He teased softly.   
“At least no one here will know it’s me if I make a fool of myself.” She groaned.   
“Ready, Reyna?” He asked, waiting for her nod before steering her into the dancers. He took a step forward and she took one back. This did seem...tentatively familiar. He tightened his grip on her waist and stepped to the side, she followed. He nodded as if to confirm something. “Will you follow my lead?”   
“As always.” She answered with a smile. He leaned forward and briefly brushed his lips against hers before moving again, picking up the pattern and rhythm. He saw Varric out of the corner of his eye, nodding approvingly. Hawke’s cheeks were flushed delectably pink.   
“Where did you learn to dance?” Isabela was beside them now with Merrill, gawking. Fenris shrugged and Isabela shook her head in wander.   
“Don’t hog her!” Merrill reached out for Hawke. Reluctantly Hawke let go of Fenris, allowing Merrill to awkward pull her into a stance and whirl her into a spin.   
“That means you get me, handsome.” Isabela purred.   
“Hands where I can see them.” Fenris demanded as he took Isabela’s waist. Isabela cackled and pressed her bosom against him.  
“Varric and I have a bet, you know. He’s trying to win.” Isabela began. Fenris bit back a groan.  
“Kaffas.” He swore. “What now?”   
“When you’ll make an honest woman of our dear Hawke.” Isabela replied with wide, falsely innocent eyes. Fenris missed a step.  
“I’m sorry, what?”  
“Well, when a man and a woman love each other very much and get along spectacularly in the sack…” Isabela began.  
“Marriage.” Fenris interrupted. “Is that what Hawke wants?”   
“Every little girl dreams of getting married, Fenris! Well, except me.” She winked.  
“She hasn’t mentioned it to you?” Fenris pressed.   
“No, she hasn’t.” Isabela admitted. “Which is why I took the longer bet.”   
Fenris was silent. “Slaves don’t get married.” he finally allowed his mouth to form the words.   
“Luckily, you’re not a slave.” Isabela countered. “Think about it, sweetness. Preferably in about eight months. I’ll split the profits with you.”   
Fenris was going to respond, although he didn’t know what he was going to say. When he looked over Isabela’s shoulder into the crowd though, he could have swore he saw a flash of glowing blue eyes and blonde hair.   
“Fenris?” Isabela asked as they stopped. He pushed her to the side, diving into the crowd. As he pushed through, he looked into every face.   
“Fenris!” Isabela called, gripping his sleeve. He noticed she was careful to not touch his skin through the fabric and he appreciated it. “What in the Maker’s name…”   
“I thought…” Fenris was staring at a brick wall. The music and party sounded far away. “I thought I saw him, the abomination. I could have sworn.”   
“Here?” Isabela questioned. “Oh sweetness, that can’t be.”   
He turned, diving back into the crowd. His heart was hammering in fear. He’d been a fool, leaving the dance floor and Hawke unaware. When he emerged back again, Hawke was right in front of him with a frown on her face.   
“What happened?” She asked. “I saw you take off, I was worried…”   
“Nothing.” Isabela said cheerfully. “I grabbed his ass and made him angry.”   
“Isabela!” Hawke scolded. Fenris continued to look over his shoulder, feeling the pointed glance of a dagger between his shoulder blades again.


	5. The Templars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris continues to have nightmares. Events in the rest of Thedas catch up with Hawke and her companions.

Isabela and Fenris had an argument that night. Fenris had wanted to tell Hawke what he was so sure he’d seen. Isabela wasn’t as convinced that he’d seen anything of note at all. Their argument was muted to prevent the other two women and Varric from hearing them over the crowd of revelers.

“She deserves to know he may be here. We need to be vigilant, we know now what he is capable of.” 

“Sweet thing, it couldn’t have been him. How would he have found us?” 

“Your constant descriptions of Llomeryn probably would have given him a decent idea of where to start.” Fenris’s voice dripped acid. 

“And even if he were here, what good would lurking in a crowd do? He’d have come to me or Varric.” Isabela soothed. “Maker knows he never had two coppers to rub together.” 

“There is something wrong.” Fenris protested. 

“Fine.” Isabela had drawn herself up to her full height, folding her arms under her impressive bosom. “You can tell Hawke, if you can honestly say no to one question.” 

“And what is that question?” Fenris snapped. 

“Did you ever think you saw Danarius when he wasn’t there those six years in Kirkwall.” Isabela asked, her eyes flashing. Fenris didn’t know what made him more angry, that she dared to bring him up or that she was right. 

So he didn’t tell Hawke and the rest of First Day had passed without incident. So did the next, and the next. Winter’s cold winds faded and spring warmed the air. The month of Drakonis rolled in with not much change. Rumbles of the gathering of the College of Enchanters was all anyone would talk about, but it would be days before they heard what had happened. The only thing that changed were his nightmares. They progressively seemed to be getting more common and worse. 

_ Fenris could hear screaming as he raced down hallways, a maze that reminded him vaguely of that damned trip to Orlais. The screaming seemed to be right next to him, but he couldn’t find the source. He knew those screams. They sounded exactly the same as the cry she’d made when the Arishok had lifted her off the ground on his sword and her body had slid down the cold steel. Fenris would never forget that sound and he knew what it meant. Hawke was dying, they were killing Hawke.  _

_ “Let her go!” He screamed into the hallway. “Take me, let her go!”  _

_ The walls were cracking, blue light coming through the stone. He swore he could hear a booming laugh that sounded unworldly.  _

Fenris woke in their bed the same way he had gotten used to doing so, the dawn still hours away and Hawke sleeping peacefully next to his rigid form. He turned his head, trying to still his racing heart and take calm, deep breaths. He was afraid it sounded like he’d been sobbing. 

Hawke was awake, she had been the last few times he woke. Her blue eyes were troubled and her hand hovered over his arm, uncertain. “Fenris?” She whispered. 

“Reyna.” He answered, pulling her hand to his heart, beating beneath his ribcage like he’d run from Kirkwall to Minrathous. He closed his eyes, inhaling her scent, listening to the sleeping city outside. 

“Are you ever going to tell me what’s wrong?” She asked, wrapping her arms around him and pulling him to her. Her fingers found his hair and smoothed it gently. 

“I...it is weakness.” He sputtered, her heart was beating in her chest as well. He could feel it, soothing and real. 

“I know you aren’t weak Fenris.” She sounded exasperated. “Tell me.” 

“I have...nightmares.” He responded, closing his eyes so he didn’t see the way she would most certainly look at him like he was less. “They involve you.” 

“What about me?” She probed. 

He didn’t want to say. He couldn’t say the words, that he had found her lifeless and bloody more than once. The times he had been making love to her, only to notice the brand on her forehead when she didn’t respond to his touch. Then there were the horrid screams where he could never even find her. He pressed his lips together and shook his head. “I can’t.” 

She seemed to know what he was thinking, even though he didn’t say. “That bad, huh?” She tried to smile, touching his cheek lightly. He turned to kiss her fingertips. “How long has this been happening?” 

“Months.” He answered. “It started after we moved into this house, but before the end of winter.” 

“Oh, Fenris…” She sighed. “Look at me, amatus.” 

He couldn’t refuse her, his eyes opened and he gazed at her. She was beautiful, whole. He would keep her that way. “I am safe, we are safe.” She comforted him. 

“I know, I just don’t know…” He struggled, his fists clenching. She reached for them and smoothed his palm open. 

“You needn’t suffer. You shouldn’t.” She offered. “There are some herbs. No magic, just a simple tonic that helps chase away all dreams. You’re better to us all rested. I can get what we need in the morning.” 

He nodded weakly. He felt small and ashamed. Hawke made a shushing noise, leaning in close to him. “I see where you’re going Fenris, don’t think that. You are a man, a warrior, but you’re only mortal. It’s okay to fear for those you love.” 

“I do. Love you.” He responded quietly. “I don’t tell you that enough.” 

“I know.” She hummed, kissing his temple. “You don’t need to say it for me to know.” 

There were silent for some time as she ran her fingers through his hair, quietly comforting him. “Are you still tired?” She asked.

“I don’t want to return…” She nodded at his response.

“I can help, if you want.” She offered cautiously. “But it is magic I’ll be using on you. I imagine it will feel like healing, but I’m not sure.” 

“I trust you.” The response, as always, was immediate. She nodded, settling them both down on the bed. He felt the familiar pull, but no fear this time as he looked into her eyes. She continued to fluff his hair with her fingers, he could see a soft glow there from the corner of his eyes. 

“Sleep, love.” She whispered, leaning down to brush her lips against his. His eyes closed, and he was gone. 

_ They were laying in a green field of the softest grass he’d ever felt. All he could hear were birds chirping and, far away, children laughing. Hawke lay beside him, her hand clasping his.  _

_ “Where are we?” He asked, looking up at the clear blue sky. Clouds drifted slowly past.  _

_ “Technically, the Fade.” Hawke responded. “Less technically, you’re in my dream. Which is set in Lothering.”  _

_ “Is this what you always dream?” He asked. _

_ “No.” She grinned wickedly. “I have a lot of very naughty dreams we certainly don’t need to go into now.”  _

_ “It’s beautiful. I thought Ferelden was full of mud and dogs.” Fenris teased. Hawke’s laugh was bright and clear.  _

_ “Only most of Ferelden.” She answered. “We can rest now, Fenris.”  _

_ He knew she was right, he could feel the warm sun on his skin and smell fresh hay. He closed his eyes and smiled.  _

_ “I used to bring Bethany here, when nightmares woke her or demons plagued her. It is our safe space. Sometimes, I still think I may find her here.”  She admitted. “It seems right that you’re here now.”  _

_ Someday, Fenris thought, she could bring a child here with green eyes and dark hair who could conjure snow and create this haven. A child with magic as elegant and beautiful as Hawke’s.  _

 

They woke refreshed and dressed lazily. Hawke picked up her staff and Fenris his sword before leaving the room. Varric was in front of the fire, enjoying a cup of a rather bitter brew he’d discovered. He said it was from Antiva and tasted amazing, although Hawke and Fenris were rather more doubtful. 

“Merrill is still asleep.” Varric said as they descended the stairs. “I think I’m almost ready to send this to my publisher, you sure you don’t want to read it?” He gestured to the manuscript in front of him. 

“Absolutely not.” Hawke muttered. “I’ve given you permission to write my biography, but I have no intention of ever reading it and seeing which parts you’ve exaggerated. I can’t believe anyone would be interested in reading my tragic life story.”

Fenris could see how it would make fascinating reading, but he kept that thought to himself. “Have you come up with a title?” He asked politely. 

“The Tale of the Champion!” Varric exclaimed. “What do you think?” 

Hawke rolled her eyes and huffed away. Fenris smiled after her. “I wouldn’t mind a copy when it’s published.” 

“It shall be done, my Broody friend. Where are you off to?” 

“The market.” Fenris stated, vaguely. “For some herbs.” 

“Better be quick, before Merrill wakes or you’ll be there all day. Do you think you can get more ink?” He asked hopefully. 

“Last time I bought you ink, you complained about the shoddy quality.” Hawke had appeared again with her cloak and a small basket, her hand on her hip. 

“That’s why I’m asking Broody, not you.” Varric pointed out reasonably. Hawke scoffed. 

Hawke tied her cloak around her to ward off the slight chill of the morning. It was scarlet wool, his favorite color against her skin. She didn’t say anything, but inclined her head in a small gesture. It asked him if he was ready to go. He responded by tilting his head as well, another small gesture indicating she could take the lead. 

The market was not as busy as it would be. He, personally, was grateful. It may have been his training as a bodyguard for a magister, but he hated navigating crowds. He could see the bookseller still setting up, they would have the ink Varric required. Perhaps the next volume of Orlesian history he was looking for… 

“Go ahead.” Hawke invited, inclining her head to the bookseller. “The herbs are across the square, I’ll come browse with you when I’m finished.” 

“I should stay by your side.” Fenris replied. Hawke lifted an eyebrow, folding her arms across her chest. 

“I can’t be trusted to shop for herbs by myself? Will I swoon if I catch sight of a pickpocket?” She asked. Fenris pinched the bridge of his nose, shaking his head. 

“Fine.” He bit the word out. “Try to stay out of trouble.” 

Hawke smirked, leaning forward with a wink. “Trouble is my middle name.” 

“It’s actually…” He began but Hawke put her hand over his mouth, laughing. 

“Don’t say it! I yield!” She smirked, kissing the back of her hand over his mouth. “Don’t buy too many books.” 

“I make no promises.” He responded as she took her hand away and bounded off towards the herbs. Thank the Maker she’d worn the scarlet cloak, she stuck out in the crowd even more than usual. He’d have no trouble watching her discreetly from anywhere.

The bookseller knew him by now and his tastes. As soon as the plump, small man saw Fenris approach, a broad smile stretched his face. “Ser elf!” the man greeted warmly. “I haven’t tracked down that Orlesian history yet, but I’ve a fine encyclopedia of monsters encountered in the Hissing Wastes. It would be a perfect tome for a well-read man such as yourself.” 

How could Fenris resist that compliment? “I’ll take a look at it.” He responded with one of his rare smiles. “A bottle of Antivan black ink, as well.” 

“And your lady is with you?” The bookseller asked as he arranged his wares, looking at the spines as he searched for the encyclopedia. “I know her taste is a bit more...common. The newest Randy Dowager is in stock as well.” 

Fenris chuckled at the man’s obvious distaste for his most popular product. “I’m sure she’ll be interested.” He looked over his shoulder and saw Hawke bending low over a basket of oddly shaped yellow flowers. He shook his head in exasperation as he counted out the coins for the ink and stuffed it in his belt pouch. 

Something happened. 

Fenris felt his marks flicker through no will of his own, dulling then glowing bright. He felt like a candle that had just survived a strong gust. Fenris’s muscles tenses in response, a familiar ache spreading from them. It took a moment, but he had felt something similar to this in fights with Templars in Kirkwall. They had tried to use their abilities to cancel out magic from Hawke, Merrill, and Anders. It was called a silence, and it sucked all the mana right out of a mage. Hawke had explained a talented and powerful mage could redirect or avoid the ability if they were prepared. Luckily, it wasn’t that difficult to see templars coming. 

Fenris lurched around, scanning for a flash of red at the opposite side of the market. His stomach dropped as he saw nothing, no Hawke. He tamped down the urge to yell for her, creeping forward quickly. There was an alley entrance near the basket of odd yellow flowers, and…

There it was, Hawke’s discarded basket and staff. He ignored it, silently readying his blade as he ducked into the narrow alley. It didn’t take his eyes any time to adjust to the gloom, the alley left untouched by the sun most of the day he guessed. The two men in armor weren’t far in, their heads angled to look at something or someone on the ground. 

“Thought you’d be harder to get to, apostate.” One of them laughed bitterly. 

“It’s like she was waiting to get caught. I think they all are.” The other answered. He was twirling a dagger in his hand. “Always wanted to see if we could cut the magic outta one, what’d you think, Champion?” 

“Fuck you.” Hawke’s voice was still strong, clear, but coming from the ground. Fenris shifted into his stance, waiting for his moment. 

The templar on the right knelt down, reaching out his hand to grab Hawke’s hair. He heard Hawke gasp as the man’s other arm snapped back and slapped her across the face. “Be careful what you wish for.” The man growled. 

Fenris didn’t think anymore, he moved. His marks lit up the whole alley as he plunged his hand through the back of the man hovering over Hawke with his fist in her hair. The man let go of Hawke immediately, looking down at his chest just in time for Fenris’s hand to burst from his breastplate, clutching the man’s heart which Fenris dropped like an offering at Hawke’s feet. 

The other man jumped back, dropping his dagger and going for his sword. Hawke was already moving as Fenris pulled back from the other Templar, her fingers nimbly finding the small dagger sheathed under her shirt. With perfect aim, she threw the dagger and the edge embedded itself into the remaining templar’s eye. He shrieked, but before it could grow into a scream, Fenris was there, swinging his sword toward the unguarded portion between helm and breastplate. His sword cleaved almost the whole way through the man’s neck and cut off the man’s dying sounds. Before he hit the ground, Fenris was grabbing Hawke’s arms. 

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?” He asked, fighting back panic. There was blood on her face, running down from a wound above her temple. His fingers touched it gently and she winced. She was paler than normal, her eyes glassy. 

“I’ve had better days.” She responded. “Were there more?” 

“I don’t know, I don’t think so.” He gripped her waist and pulled her to her feet. She swayed and clutched onto his pauldrons, groaning. 

“I didn’t know they were there, I didn’t see them.” She groaned. “They silenced me and pushed me in here, I tried to yell for you and the one hit me with the hilt of his sword. I think my skull is cracked.” She brought her own hand up to her temple, the blood coloring her fingers red and she winced again. “Exactly what I needed, another head wound.” 

“Stay here.” He propped her up on the brick wall and went back to the alley entrance, eyes darting around the crowd. There was no other shining armor. He grabbed the staff and basket, returning to Hawke’s side as she leaned against the building. He handed both to her and wound his arm around her waist again. “Lean on me, I think I know a shorter way to the house.” 

He wasn’t sure it was actually shorter, he thought as he half dragged Hawke down alleys. It did have the benefit of being off the main roads, which was good because they were both splattered in blood. The same thought occured to Hawke and she looked up, smirking. 

“Blood spatters are wholly inappropriate in the morning.”

“Vehendis, you’re right, the head wound was completely unnecessary. Your sense of humor was already atrocious.” Fenris groaned in effort, making the final turn. He froze, reaching for his sword immediately at the sight of more shining armor in front of the townhouse. It took a moment to recognize Carver watching the main road. 

“Carver!” Hawke called, sighing in relief. Carver wrenched his eyes from the main road to them and immediately blanched at the sight. 

“Maker!” He raced toward them. “Tell me that isn’t all your blood.” 

“Fenris got me a gift. The heart of one of my enemies. It’s not even my birthday.” Hawke offered this nonsensical explanation. Carver shook his head, looking at Fenris. 

“Templars.” Fenris spat the word out in fury. 

“Dead?” Carver asked, taking his sister’s staff and basket so Fenris could sweep her up in his arms. 

“Of course.” Fenris answered. Carver nodded, following the two of them into the house. Varric, Merrill, and Isabela were waiting. Isabela swore at the sight of them, running into the kitchen. Varric cleared off the main dining table so Fenris could put Hawke on it while Merrill hovered uselessly.

“I heard… I tried to make it here first.” Carver explained as he peeled his sister’s hair away from the wound. “The College of Enchanters held a vote for independence, but it was defeated. The mages voted to stay in their circles. You’d think everyone could leave well enough alone, but the Divine disbanded the college. The mages don’t even have a voice in their treatment anymore.” 

“Why does that have anything to do with Templars here, Junior?” Varric asked as Isabela returned with warm water and towels. 

“If everyone just waits, my mana will come back and I’ll heal it.” Hawke responded testily. 

“Shut up.” Fenris growled as he took one of towels and gently began to clean the wound. Hawke took a ragged breath. 

“They voted on you and Anders too.” Carver said quietly. “They...judged Anders as a criminal and demanded he present himself to one of the circles for punishment.” 

“Death, they mean.” Hawke protested. “Or worse. They have to know he won’t do that. He’d risk death, but never Tranquility.” 

“I’m sure they aren’t seriously expecting it to have an impact. They were...more divided on you.” Carver admitted. “Some of the mages that escaped Kirkwall presented themselves to other circles and weren’t immediately killed on sight. They testified that you’d protested to protect innocent lives and had tried to steer a course that would have protected everyone. They didn’t have proof you didn’t help Anders explode the damn Chantry, but they testified it didn’t seem to be in your character.” 

“So are they expecting me to present myself at the circle of my choice?” Hawke asked dryly. 

“Oh Hawke, you couldn’t.” Merrill whispered, horrified. 

“No - they didn’t find you innocent or guilty. They said they couldn’t decide without your testimony.” Carver said. “There were templars who had come from Kirkwall to testify and they were...furious. There were about a dozen and they swore they wouldn’t return to Kirkwall until they’d made you and Anders pay. They split off into groups and set off to find you, ignoring Cullen’s orders.” Carver took a deep breath. “I don’t think they knew where you were, but there were two I heard were coming here to look. Dumb luck.” 

“Wonderful.” Varric shook his head. “Could it get any worse?” 

“Unfortunately, yes.” Carver frowned. “On my way here, I heard some of the Kirkwall mages who testified took some of the Liberatarians from the other circles and headed back to Kirkwall to liberate the Gallows. The Divine is considering an Exalted March, fueled by rumors that the rebels are meeting up with you.” 

“I’m not in Kirkwall!” Hawke protested. 

“Unfortunately, sweetness, they’re going to figure out where you are now. Two templars head to Llomeryn, and none leave? That’s a good indication of where to find a powerful apostate.” Isabela shrugged her shoulders as nonchalantly as she could. 

“Which may not be a bad thing, for Kirkwall.” Varric added hastily at Fenris’s glare. The water in the bowl was pink now and Fenris took a poultice from Merrill and placed it gently on Hawke’s temple. 

“I can’t go back to Kirkwall.” Hawke stated. “I can’t stay here.” 

“I have an idea.” Carver started, tapping his shoulders on his blade. “I’m not sure you’ll like it, but Isabela and I discussed it before we came here and it could work.” 

“Do you remember Zevran?” Isabela asked.

“The Antivan Crow?” Fenris looked up. “You can’t be serious.” 

“Oh, please continue. I have to hear where this is going.” Hawke waved her hand at Isabela to continue. 

“Funniest thing about Zevran, the elf never turned down a tumble. I mean,  _ never _ .” Isabela grinned. “This one time…” 

“Rivaini, to the point.” Varric prodded. 

“Fine, spoilsport.” Isabela grumbled. “So I caught up to him after we took down Nuncio and offered him a place to sleep for the night. He says he’ll join me for a drink, but his heart is no longer his own, blah blah, all romantic.” Isabela rolled her eyes. “I find myself wondering from time to time, who in the Maker’s holy arse could make Zevran give up casual sex? Well, then I started hearing rumors in Alamar that the Warden Commander, Hero of Ferelden, has an Elven lover!” 

Isabela’s eyes glowed. “Do you know, the last time I had a taste of Antivan crow, the lady Warden joined us? I don’t see why I didn’t see it before!”

“You’re making that up.” Varric accused. “You didn’t sleep with the Hero of Ferelden and the famed Antivan Assassin.” 

“Sugar, have you ever known me to lie about my conquests?” Isabela pouted. Varric paused, uncertain. 

“Regardless!” Carver interrupted. “This assassin owes you a favor. And the Warden Commander is a cousin, or second-cousin, on mother’s side. I think you should use that favor to arrange a meeting.”

“I don’t know if that is wise.” Fenris offered. “It seems very risky to depend on the goodwill of strangers.”

“It could work.” Varric mulled over the idea. “King Alistair gave the Grey Wardens Amaranthine, so she’s not just the Warden Commander, but an Arlessa. She’s got full control over that city. She’s a mage too, and she was in the circle before joining the Grey Wardens. From what I’ve heard, she almost got herself made tranquil before joining the Wardens. Although I suppose she could just be angry that you managed to avoid the circle altogether.” 

“I’ve always been curious about our cousin.” Hawke mused. “Do you think she’ll sign a copy of History of the Fifth Blight for Fenris?” 

Fenris groaned, seeing the flash in her eyes. Isabela saw it to and grinned in triumph. “I’ll arrange a job that will take me and my crew to Amaranthine. You can all tag along. I’ll send a letter ahead of us to Zevran - if I’m right he’ll be in Amaranthine as well.” 

“I’ll write directly to the Warden Commander and ask for an audience as a Warden.” Carver offered. “It’ll be good to see Ferelden again.” 

“Yes.” Hawke looked up at Fenris and smiled. “It is beautiful this time of year, promise.” 


	6. Vigil's Keep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke arrives in Amaranthine and meets Chantal Amell-Arainai. Varric meets Nathaniel Howe. Expectations are exceeded all around.

Varric never thought he’d be glad to see Ferelden. The early spring seas hadn’t been kind to sail on. Isabela had just laughed and said it was taming a dragon. Varric and Merrill both thought it was more like being eaten by one. Of course, Carver, Hawke, and Fenris had managed well. It wouldn’t do for the heroes to get seasick, that only happened to trusty and loyal companions. Varric glared at their backs as they leaned against the rail and spoke quietly among each other. Fenris even had the nerve to look more rested than he had in Llomeryn the last few weeks. Varric cheerfully considered pushing them all overboard. 

It had taken three days for them to leave Llomeryn. It was a much less rushed operation than leaving Kirkwall, but Varric still couldn’t be happy about leaving solid ground. At least he’d been able to send off his manuscript, and a short note to Bianca if she ever deigned to write him again. It had been half a year and his contacts had seen her. She’d had plenty of opportunities to pass letters, but he’d heard nothing.

Varric was trying very hard to ignore how badly that hurt. It felt like a wound he kept picking the scab off.

He was not built for life on the run. He was built for warm fires and a tavern where he was known on sight. Despite that, he’d do this for Hawke. When she was safe, they’d go back to Kirkwall. Her and Broody could settle down and have a whole house of broody babies and he’d be a proud uncle. That should be enough for anyone, whether or not he ever heard from Bianca again.  

Isabela was waiting patiently for someone to come and check her manifest. The staff at the dock had apologetically said it was the Arlessa’s explicit orders to check every manifest against cargo. It cut down on smuggling and the threat of slavers. Fenris had nodded in approval of this. If Varric ever had a say in how Kirkwall ran, he’d institute the same policy. He could certainly appreciate the lively but certainly not criminal crowd on the docks.

“Ah! Isabela!” A figure called from the dock. Varric made his way closer to the docks to see a tanned, blonde elf waving towards the bow of the ship.” Isabela flashed a flirtatious grin. 

“Zevran! You must have received my letter. Did you like the illustrations?” She called. 

“Immeasurably.” Zevran grinned, waving over a port staff person. “These are guests of the Arlessa. Surely, their ship can be checked now, si?” 

“Right away Ser!” The young woman squeaked, flushing at Zevran’s toothy grin as she walked up the gangplank. 

“Surely this isn’t necessary for and old friend.” Isabela pouted. Zevran shrugged. 

“Rules are the rules. I would never abide by them myself, but they have proven useful.” He admitted. The port staff person nodded, taking Isabela’s manifest and scurrying to the hold with a crew member. 

“It took me three days to find a legitimate job to bring me to Amaranthine.” Isabela accused. “A bloody waste of time.” 

“Being on the straight and narrow is dull for you?” Zevran teased. He then caught sight of Hawke and he bounded over with grace, grasping her hand and bringing it to his lips with a sultry glance. Varric was delighted to see Fenris just about snatch Hawke’s hand out of the other elf’s grasp. 

“Champion! Your beauty is too great a treat for the city of Amaranthine. I knew you couldn’t resist the famous conqueror of hearts.” 

Hawke’s lips twitched. “I’m afraid I haven’t been going by that title much lately.” 

“It was a title that didn’t do you justice.” Zevran declared theatrically. “Champion of Kirkwall. More like Beauty of Kirkwall. Perhaps Goddess of Kirkwall?” He suggested. 

“I think that’s enough.” Fenris cut in.

“Never!” Zevran protested as Hawke began to giggle. “Unobtainable Siren of Kirkwall?” 

“Everything is in order, Ser.” The girl was back again, giving Isabela a copy of the paperwork. “Welcome to Amaranthine on behalf of Arlessa Amell.” 

“Ah! Welcome indeed!” Zevran smiled. “Let’s get you to the keep. The Warden Commander says she’ll have supper with you tonight.” 

The entire trip to Vigil’s Keep was spent anticipating when, exactly, Fenris would kill Zevran. The elf was flirting incorrigibly with Hawke to the exclusion of Isabela and Merrill. Well, Varric could understand not flirting with Merrill. The poor thing was still green and leaning heavily on Carver. Zevran had taken Hawke’s arm and tugged her along with the pretense of showing her the sights. As far as Varric could tell (and he was pretty certain he was right, since Zevran still had his arm), the elf hadn’t done anything remotely inappropriate. It didn’t stop Fenris from following close behind and glaring holes into Zevran’s head. 

“He must really be enjoying teasing.” Isabela snickered and tipped her head towards Fenris. “I’ve never seen lover boy look so down and out.” 

“Oh, I have.” Varric smirked. “Remember that one time she complimented Anders’s hair?” 

“Or that time Sebastian said she was beautiful.” Isabela offered. 

“I’m honestly a bit put out.” Isabela pouted as they entered the keep. “Nobody ever compliments me.” 

“What about that guy with the bad poetry?” Varric asked. “Oh Isabela, dusky Goddess of the Hanged Man, let me sing an ode to your delectable, overripe melons.” 

Isabela cackled as Zevran, Hawke, and Fenris turned to stare. 

 

The rooms in the keep were luxurious. Varric appreciated the large writing desk and window overlooking the city. There was a large fireplace and a comfortable, large bed. Varric cleaned up from the journey and decided to look around the keep. It would never hurt to get an idea of possible escape routes. Maybe there were some locks needing picked. 

He wandered down the hallway, pausing to appreciate the thick stone walls that would keep any untoward activities of his companions private. He’d heard far more of Hawke and Fenris over the past months than he really wanted to. His next chapter of Swords and Shields would benefit, unfortunately. He climbed down the steps and emerged outside the corridor into a courtyard blazing with herbs and flowers. Poor Daisy had been so sick, she’d barely looked twice. Carver could take her out tomorrow to see them, she’d like that. That courtyard led into a large hall full of tables and wardens chatting. Zevran had skirted them around this building for “discretion”, but Varric didn’t feel the need to hide. A dwarf with an air of smug self-confidence could go anywhere. 

“Come on, Howe’s beating the Commander by 12 points.” A warden stated. “Pay up now.”    
“It’s not over until the Commander doesn’t light the targets on fire.” The other warden staunchly defended. Varric turned to look out the window into an archery target yard. He wandered easily over into the other door and stepped back out into the fading light. There was a small crowd watching two figures with bows. A tall man with long, dark hair struck a bullseye on a target and the crowd cheered. The small woman behind him, her dark caught up in a high ponytail, sighed and readied her bow.

“If you miss, Commander, drinks are on you tomorrow night.” The man with the long hair teased. 

“I don’t remember making that bet before we started, Howe.” The woman answered. Varric’s stomach lurched. It wasn’t Hawke, it couldn’t be, but Maker did it sound a bit like her. This woman’s voice was a bit sultrier, her hair fell in loose waves. So, this was Warden Commander Amell. Perhaps the family resemblance was stronger than he thought it’d be. 

“Don’t worry, Commander, I’ll find a witness that says you did.” He teased. The crowd cheered again and the Commander laughed. She pulled the bowstring back and took a deep breath before letting her arrow fly. It stuck in the bullseye of the opposing target and the men burst into applause.

“I believe that means drinks are on you, Howe.” The woman turned now and Varric could breathe a bit easier. There was definitely a strong resemblance, but the Commander’s face was softer, her eyes a dark brown instead of a stunning blue. 

“I still won!” Howe protested as the men cheered. The woman laughed, reaching up to pat the man’s shoulder fondly before turning and heading back toward the tower where he’d come from, taking the roundabout way Zevran had shown them earlier. The other Wardens dissipated and left the archer alone, shaking his head. He turned to the targets and began retrieving arrows. 

“I think you look familiar, Warden.” Varric drawled, watching as the man turned. “Didn’t we pull your arse out of the deep roads earlier this year?” 

“Maker’s name!” Nathaniel smiled. “Aren’t you lot supposed to be lying low? Do I need to explain what that means?” 

“Ah, so you knew we were here. That makes this reveal a bit disappointing.” Varric hated having his theatrics thwarted. 

“Sorry.” Nathaniel Howe had the courtesy to look properly chastened. “We can do it again and I can act properly surprised.” 

“It’s over now. The thrill is gone.” Varric shook his head. “I see you made it back to Amaranthine.” 

“Course I did!” Nathaniel pulled the rest of the arrows free. “I see you made it out of Kirkwall. What a shithole.” 

“Well, you caught us at a bad time in Kirkwall. Sometimes, it was less of a shithole.”

“Is it true?” Nathaniel asked. “What they say, about Anders?” 

“I’m afraid it is. I don’t know… I’m not sure that’s Anders anymore.” Varric admitted. Nathaniel sighed, his shoulders bowing forward. 

“I used to get so annoyed with him. Honestly, felt like I wasted half my time with him. I could tell he wasn’t the same. It’s my fault, you know. I gave Justice and Anders the idea. I didn’t mean to, I was just talking. Maker, I never thought they would. I ruined them both.” Nathaniel was silent, staring at the arrows in his hand. 

“It’s not your fault.” Varric offered. “You didn’t force them to join up.” 

“I miss him.” Nathaniel sighed. “Maybe...someday he’ll show up here again. We can figure out a way to seperate them. It’ll go back to normal.” 

“Maybe.” Varric agreed, although privately he thought nugs were more likely to fly. “What’s your Warden Commander like?” 

“Funny, she asked me the same thing today about your Champion.” Nathaniel considered. “She was only seventeen when she joined the Grey Wardens, you know. I think a lot of the time, she still feels like the girl everyone keeps placing demands on. She can be quiet, sometimes I think she’s shy. She’s more at home here than anywhere else, training with her wardens. They’d all die for her in an instant.” 

“Must be a family trait, inspiring loyalty.” Varric commented sourly. Nathaniel laughed. 

“Maybe, but she has the whole city eating out of her hand. She sacrificed the keep to save the town. Took five bloody years to rebuild it. Thought for sure Anders and I weren’t going to make it.” Nathaniel scratched at his beard. “Damned darkspawn.” 

“And what did you tell the Warden Commander about Hawke?” Varric questioned. 

“Told her Zevran’s spent more time with her, to be honest. They took down that assassin together, didn’t they? Course she said she had asked Zevran, and he just started on about how she was a vision almost as lovely as our Commander. Typical, really.” Nathaniel snorted. “So I said she seemed to have the same sense of humor Anders used to have. I’m not sure if she was pleased or exasperated. I think she’s a bit nervous, to tell the truth. She had the guest quarters all fixed up in preparation.” 

“I certainly appreciate it.” Varric gave a little bow. 

“You certainly should! I’m pretty sure I’ve been asking for the same hole in my roof to be patched for months.” Nathaniel added sourly. “Come along, dwarf. I’ll show you around.” 

 

Nathaniel Howe was a great tour guide, with stories that were nearly as good as Anders, but that name hung in distant look in Nathaniel’s eyes and the frown that almost always overtook the smile. Varric wanted to offer some comfort or reassurance, but almost everything he could think of sounded terrible. When Nathaniel Howe left Varric at the bottom of the tower, he climbed up with a heavy heart. He was directed by a serving girl into a private dining room with a round table, set for eight. Isabela, Merrill, and Carver were already present. 

“You’re looking much better, Daisy.” Varric took the chair on her left. “Much less green.” 

“It’s much better to be on the ground.” Merrill agreed. Varric’s sharp eyes noticed she was still clutching onto Carver’s hand. 

“I’ve never been much for boats myself, and you’ve come a long way.” A soft voice came from the door. They all turned and Carver jumped up quickly into a salute. The rest of their group stood in reverence. 

The woman in the door looked young, still. Varric did the math quickly, she’d been eighteen when the blight ended. That made her just about twenty-five, a year younger than Hawke. Her hair fell in gentle waves to her shoulders and her eyes were what Varric would describe as “doe-eyes” in a sappy romance novel. He was right that her face was softer than Hawke’s, more full. They shared the same fine build, petite and curvy. The Warden may have been an inch taller, but that could have been her soft Antivan leather boots. She winced as they all rose, holding her hands up in a gesture that pleaded with them to stop as she stepped into the room. 

“Please don’t get up.” She asked with an apologetic smile. “Stop saluting...Carver, is it? May I call you cousin?” She asked gently. 

“If… if you’d like, Commander.” Carver stuttered. “Maker’s breath… you look just like…” 

“Bethany.” Hawke’s voice seemed to break on the name as she arrived, floating around the periphery of the room. Fenris stopped in the door anxiously. “Down to her nose, I never thought I’d see it again.” Hawke finished. 

“I’m sorry, she was your sister. I heard the darkspawn…” Carver and Hawke both looked stricken and the Warden Commander looked on the edge of panic. “I didn’t mean to dredge up… I passed through Lothering before the horde. We had nothing, but if I’d have known your family was so close, I’d have stopped and made sure you were safe. I promise.” 

“We would never have left without Carver, that’s why we waited. For news.” Hawke shook her head as if to clear it. “We’re lucky he didn’t die at Ostagar, or we’d have been waiting until the darkspawn knocked on our door.” 

“Darkspawn don’t knock though, do they?” Merrill asked, confused. It was enough to break the news as all three looked at Merrill. 

“Not in my experience.” The Commander stated with a small smile. “Ser, can you close the door please? Zevran will be by in a moment. He’s seeing to another guest I was expecting, although if he hasn’t arrived yet he probably won’t be coming until tomorrow.” 

Fenris did as directed and shut the door before slinking into a seat next to Hawke. Much to his surprise, the Commander didn’t sit down right away, but went to Isabela and placed a chaste kiss on the pirate’s cheek. 

“Miss me, Warden?” Isabela asked with a wink. 

“Oh, always, Isabela.” The girl laughed. “Are you still cheating at cards?” 

“I never cheat!” Isabela protested. “Am I still your first and only?” 

The Warden blushed and Isabela sniggered. “Ah, so the pretty little circle mage has been completely corrupted by our assassin friend. Good to know!”

Well, Maker be damned. He supposed Isabela hadn’t been making it up after all. The same shocked looks were in evidence all across the table, except for Merrill, who was oblivious. 

“My name is Chantal Amell-Arainai.” The commander introduced herself. “My people call me Commander, but you’re welcome to call me Chantal.” 

“Arainai? You convinced him to marry you?” Isabela sounded incredulous. 

“I convinced her to marry me.” Zevran had appeared silently at the door and shut it behind it. “Although, we don’t often advertise the fact. Politics, si? They’re so...unfortunate.” He bent to kiss Chantal’s head as he passed. “Mi amor, he hasn’t arrived. I’m sure he’ll be camping somewhere, or at an inn. If he’s not here tomorrow, I’ll go looking for the great oaf.”    
“Thank you, Zevran.” Chantal smiled sweetly as Zevran sat down. As if waiting for the cue, servants appeared and began serving bread and vegetables with a savory roasted meat. Chantal smiled at each one and thanked them by name. When glasses were filled with wine, they disappeared with smiles at the Commander. 

“Have introductions been completed then, mi amor? No?” He asked as she shook her head. “I, as you all are aware, am the famous and handsome Antivan Assassin…”

“Former Antivan Assassin.” Chantal corrected. 

“Former Antivan Assassin known as Zevran Arainai, but I’m best known as the companion and lover of the Hero of Ferelden.” He shot a small, proud smile at his wife. “Who single handedly stopped the blights…”

“I did not!” 

“Saved the city of Redcliffe…” 

“At the very least, you were there too.” Chantal protested, laughing. 

“And defeated the darkspawn besieging Amaranthine.” Zevran finished. “Among her many more obvious qualifications.” 

“Which are?” Isabela asked. 

“Of all the beauties here, she shines the brightest.” Zevran gave a small shrug of his shoulders. Fenris let out a small snort and Hawke elbowed him in the ribs. 

“You should do all the introductions.” Varric insisted. “I’d be hard pressed to beat that one.” 

“Of course I should! Now, you’ve met your cousins, mi amor?” Zevran asked. “Warden Carver Hawke, slayer of darkspawn and ensnarer of elven girls’ hearts, or so it is rumored.” 

“What?” Carver sputtered as Merrill flushed a pretty pink. Good to see that project of Isabela’s was working nicely. 

“And Reyna Hawke, defender of innocent mages, champion of Kirkwall, and explorer of the deep roads. I confess, I had to dig a bit to learn her first name.” Zevran smiled brilliantly at Chantal. “It seems she is never called so.” 

“Do you prefer Hawke?” Chantal asked. “Or may I call you cousin?” 

Hawke shrugged. “Honestly, whatever you like. Very few people call me Reyna.” 

Varric had to confess he couldn’t even remember the last time he’d heard Carver call her that. The only time he’d heard it in the last year or so was whispers from Fenris when he thought the two of them were alone or unobserved. 

“Then we have her paramour, Fenris. His chief flaw seems to be that he is impervious to my charms. Beyond that, he is notable for escaping slavery in Tevinter, killing at least two magisters, and a fine appreciation for wine. I picked this one tonight out especially for you. It’s an Antivan red from one of the best years.” Zevran raised his glass to Fenris and waited for the elf to slowly do the same before sipping it. “Ah, delicious.” 

“Fenris is also quite good at brooding intensely.” Varric offered as he sipped the wine. It was particularly delicious, and Varric didn’t even like wine. He watched Fenris out of the corner of his eye struggle with the appropriate reaction. He could tell Fenris was torn between tossing the wine at the other elf or continuing to appreciate it. 

“We all have our talents.” Chantal slipped in diplomatically. “Please continue, Zevran.” 

“This is Merrill, formerly of clan Sabrae, also formerly of Ferelden before they went to the Free Marches during the blight.”

“We call her Daisy.” Varric added. 

“She is a beautiful wildflower, no Warden Hawke?” Zevran grinned wolfishly. “And a skilled mage! I think she’d get along quite well with us, mi amor.” 

“I do try to be friendly.” Merrill leaned forward eagerly. Carver rolled his eyes. 

“Kitten is very friendly.” Isabela purred. 

“You remember the tempting and delectable Isabela?” Zevran asked. Chantal nodded, flushing pink again. “Ah good, perhaps we can get acquainted again.” Zevran winked. “Which leaves you, Ser Dwarf.” 

“Varric Tethras, wayward head of House Tethras and member of the Dwarven Merchant’s Guild of Kirkwall. It’s an honor to meet you, your Greyness.” Varric gave a mock bow from his seat. 

“You’re a writer as well, correct?” Chantal asked. “You are  _ that _ Varric Tethras?” 

“Are you a fan?” Varric asked shrewdly. 

“Hard in Hightown is my favorite. I know Brother Genetivi, you know. He told me recently your trash has outsold his Travels of a Chantry Scholar. He’s crushed.” 

“You’re kidding!” Varric didn’t have to feign his delight. “My publisher will be thrilled.” 

“Are you working on a sequel? Would I be able to get a sneak peak?” Ah, there it was, the small smirk that Hawke shared when she was angling to get something. Varric laughed. 

“I never give away spoilers. Right now, I’ve just given something new to my publisher. A biography of the Champion of Kirkwall.” He heard Hawke groan and sink down in her chair. 

“Now we must have a taste of that!” Chantal persisted. “Zevran can tell you one of our stories from the Blight in exchange.” 

“Well if you insist…” Varric began. “What would you like to learn about our dear Champion?” 

 

The evening devolved into a drinking competition. Varric had to admit, he was impressed with the way the small woman held her wine and ale. She wasn’t even swaying, but Merrill and Isabela were practically on the floor. “I think it may be time to put them to bed.” Varric observed wryly. 

“I’ll take Merrill.” Carver sighed. “Come on, Daisy.” 

“Carver!” Merrill squealed as Carver picked her up. “You are so very...musclely.” She mused as the back of Carver’s neck colored. 

“Fenris, can you…?” Hawke asked sweetly. 

“No.” Fenris said immediately. 

“I can’t carry her!” Hawke protested as Isabela began to sing a drunken pirate shanty. 

“The last time I carried her somewhere when she was this drunk, she attempted to take advantage.” Fenris reasoned. 

“I’ll duel her for your honor tomorrow.” Hawke promised, laughing as Fenris reached down to yank Isabela to her feet. 

“Hello sailor!” Isabela giggled as Fenris led her from the room. She tripped over the threshold and fell into him, leaving Fenris cursing. 

“Thank you, again.” Hawke turned to Chantal. “I know you didn’t have to invite us in.” 

“Course I did!” She poured the last of the wine in Hawke’s goblet and her own. “I couldn’t leave my own cousin stranded. “I barely remember my mother, her name was Revka.” 

“My mother mentioned her once. She said she cried when her eldest child was taken to Kirkwall’s circle. He died of a fever after being seperated from the family, and Revka left Kirkwall.” 

“I’m the third child. My youngest sibling died as a babe and my older sister didn’t pass her harrowing in Ostwick. They say Revka died when they took me to the circle, it broke her heart.” Chantal looked out the window at the sleeping city, biting her lip uncertainly.

“If you’re going to ask about him, do it now. That’s the real reason I asked Fenris to take Isabela.” Hawke offered. “You won’t want to do this in front of him.” 

“It’s my fault, what happened to him and Justice.” Varric bit his tongue from interrupting to say that was the second time he’d heard that sentiment today. Zevran stood to ensure the door was closed. “I just can’t believe...but it is true, isn’t it?” 

“When I met him, he’d just left the Wardens I think. He said you all made him get rid of his cat.” Chantal barked out a rough laugh, shaking her head. “He...was still him then I think. Looking back…” 

“He was less himself every year.” Varric added. “At first, Justice just made an occasional appearance. Eventually, it was Anders that was making the occasional appearances.” 

“Do you know how I met him?” Chantal smiled brightly. “Here at the keep during a darkspawn attack. He was surrounded by dead darkspawn and templars. His first words were ‘I didn’t do it’, immediately followed by stating he wasn’t particularly sorry they were dead.” 

“Did you believe him?” Varric asked. “Seems a likely story.” 

“I remembered him from the Tower. Irving always said he was reckless, but not dangerous. I don’t think he killed them, it looked like darkspawn’s work to me. I’m sure he wasn’t breaking his heart over trying to help them either.” Chantal shrugged. “The templars wanted to take him back to the Tower and hang him. I thought he was mostly innocent, and I needed warden recruits.”

“My wife has always had a knack for picking companions that are deranged and deadly. It’s a talent.” Zevran winked. 

“Must run in the family.” Varric grumbled. 

“You found me, Varric, remember?” Hawke challenged. “I still don’t know how much coin you paid that pickpocket to set you up for that entrance.” 

“Coin well spent.” Varric was still satisfied he’d gotten the best of that deal. 

“Justice was possessing the corpse of a dead Warden. He seemed...odd, but harmless. Infinitely helpful. Somehow he’d gotten stuck on this side of the veil.” Chantal sighed, shaking her head. “I was trying to save Amaranthine, Anders and Justice were both here. We found the headless corpse Justice had been possessing, but no Justice.” 

“And then what happened?” Hawke asked. “Why did Anders leave?” 

“I never wanted to tie Anders down to this place, I knew he hated the idea. So I let him come and go as he pleased for the most part. I had asked him to stay here and take charge of the keep during a mission, but he turned me down. He said he didn’t want to be in charge. I took Oghren with me, and Howe was going to the deep roads to map out some old tunnels. I should have followed my gut and left Anders in charge anyway, but I didn’t.”

“Mi amor, you couldn’t have known…” Zevran soothed.

“You would have pointed out the flaw in my plan, if you’d have been here Zev. I put a former templar in charge. It shouldn’t have mattered, everything that happened before the wardens is supposed to go away as soon as you join. I explain that to every new recruit. I thought Rolan had been used to being in charge of a standing garrison, he was best suited, but he remembered Anders from the circle and decided to make his life miserable. I wish he’d have written to one of us, but he didn’t. He...joined up with Justice again, somehow. Rolan called him an abomination and tried to kill him.” 

“Didn’t work, did it?” Hawke asked.

“I sent wardens out after them as soon as I’d heard what had happened, but I was too late. We found a clearing full of charred tree stumps and dismembered templars and wardens. Next thing I heard, Anders was in Kirkwall. I wrote, I sent letters. I told him I was sorry, he was free to come back and we’d work together to fix it. He never answered. Was he...very angry at me?” 

Hawke hesitated just long enough that the lie was evident before she told it. Chantal sighed. “I thought so.” 

“He may not have come back because he fancied himself in love with me.” Hawke said softly. “It may not have just been anger.” 

“In love with you? Anders?” Chantal grinned. “Never! I can picture him fusing with Justice and blowing up the chantry… that seems like just another few bad decisions. But love? Anders would never fall in love, and if he did it would have been…” She trailed off, never finishing her thought. 

“Will you help him, if he comes to you?” Hawke asked. 

“I don’t know if I can.” She answered glumly. “But I’d try. I owe him that.” 

“Don’t tell Fenris. It isn’t worth the argument.” Varric advised. Chantal nodded, standing and stretching. 

“My other guest should be here tomorrow, he’ll be able to help you as well. He doesn’t know you’re here yet, but I’ve asked him to bring some things so we can get you hidden, cousin. I think I may ask for your brother to be transferred to our garrison, temporarily. I’ll invent a need for him. It may be safer, politically, here than in the Free Marches.”

“Thank you, Chantal.” Hawke said tentatively. 

“You’re welcome, Reyna. I’ll see you tomorrow.” 


	7. Tales of the Orphan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zevran opens up to Fenris. Fenris makes an important purchase.

There had been no nightmares since they had left Llomeryn. It was as if the very act of moving, of doing something to combat the threat had banished them. Fenris almost hated the thought of being stuck in one place again. The room was comfortable enough, with a large bed and a table for Fenris to stack his growing collection of books. He was reading one by the light of a candle when Hawke finally slipped in the door. He looked up from the page, moving his finger to mark the spot he had stopped as she crossed the room to their folded clothes. 

“What do you think of her?” Hawke asked. “I thought she’d be taller, to be honest.” 

That, Fenris thought, was a complicated question. When he’d first seen the Warden Commander, he’d experienced a rush of disorientation. He had sworn that there were two of his Hawke, like he’d fallen asleep and was having a crazy dream. Then he’d been able to appreciate the differences, the shorter hair on the Warden and the chocolate colored eyes as well as a general softness. Then...he’d unfortunately thought of what they’d both look like naked, together. He was still extremely ashamed of this wayward fantasy and had crushed it immediately. He had to say, he felt slightly more understanding of Zevran’s overt and rather annoying attentions. 

“People always say they expect you to be taller as well.” Fenris pointed out reasonably, eyes glued to Hawke’s hands as she lifted the flimsy cotton over head and dumped it on the ground. She perched on the edge of the table and began to unlace her boots. 

“They say that because Varric makes it sound like the Arishok was as tall as a house.” She paused, head tipped to the side as she yanked off her boot and started unlacing the other. “Although I suppose he couldn’t have fit in Gamlen’s hovel, could he?”

 

_ The Arishok was surprisingly fast as he darted around the room, chasing Hawke’s small form. Her hair had fallen from her braid in ragged strands that were glued to her pale face with sweat. She only stopped running to turn and cast, before sprinting away again. A fireball caught the Arishok’s arm and he growled, spinning away. There was a large, blistering burn on his skin. Hawke took the opportunity to reach into her belt and uncork a lyrium potion with her teeth, but her hand shook. It slowed her down just enough for the Arishok to be on her, his sword slicing through fabric, leather, and chainmail.  _

_ The blade sunk through her pale, soft skin. Fenris had touched that skin, once. He’d ran her hands over her curves and thought himself blessed instead of cursed as he trailed kisses over her breasts and she arched into his touch. Then he’d left and she didn’t know. She didn’t know he still dreamed of that moment, every second burned into his memory with a clarity he thought reserved for memories of pain and torture. He could still hear her whispering his name, he was haunted by her blue eyes. When the blade sunk into her abdomen and emerged from her back, only one coherent thought was in his head.  _

_ He’d never get the chance to tell her.  _

_ Then the giant had smirked and lifted his sword and Hawke had screamed. Fenris could still hear that scream echoing in the silent chamber. She was so small and her form was sliding down that giant sword and Maker she was screaming, he had to stop it. Aveline was holding him back and he was screaming to, just one word torn from his mouth.  _

_ “No!”  _

_ A plea, a command, a prayer. Fenris didn’t know. Then there was flame and Hawke’s palm and the sword was on the ground still covered in her blood. She was hefting it up with the last strength in her body and plunging it into the Arishok’s throat.  _

_ Disjointed moments as she held her hand over the wound and Meredith declared her champion and Aveline was still holding him back and he could smell blood in the air. Then he was free and he was cradling her head and whispering her name, her real name. Anders’ hands were shaking and he was glowing blue.  _

_ “Save her.” His voice sounded broken to his own ears as he looked at the mage. He would have given anything, done anything.  _

_ “I will, I will.” Anders’ had promised. Their hands were both red from blood and people were still screaming but the wound wasn’t gushing blood anymore and Fenris allowed himself to hope, just for a moment.   _

 

Hawke was still talking as Fenris tried to pry himself from the memory. She was pulling a shift over her head now and he could see the scar from the Arishok’s blade marring her perfect skin. Anders had almost died that day too, Aveline had told him later. Fenris couldn’t remember, he’d been too focused on Hawke, but the mage had poured everything into that wound. Merrill had apparently forced health potions and lyrium down his throat until the mage was breathing steadily again. Hawke had lived. 

“Fenris?” Hawke finally caught sight of the  expression on his face. “What is it?” 

“The Arishok was the size of a house.” He responded somberly. “I hate to think of it… of that day. I thought you were lost.” 

“To be completely honest,” Hawke’s one was annoyingly breezy “So did I. He was probably still less imposing than an archdemon, however.”

“It’s not a competition, Reyna.” Fenris scolded. 

“Of course it is!” Hawke protested in mock indignation as she crawled onto the bed. “What do you think I’ve done that’s on that scale? The crazy darkspawn Magister in the deep roads?” 

Fenris smirked. “He still wasn’t an Archdemon, although I thought it was impressive.” 

“High dragon at the Bone Pit?” She asked hopefully. 

“An archdemon is a dragon, corrupted by the blight, so I’m afraid she still wins.” 

“Well, I’ll just have to find something bigger and badder than an Archdemon.” Hawke shrugged, her shift had slipped down, revealing the gentle curve of his shoulder. Fenris let out a ragged breath, closing his eyes. 

“Please don’t.” He begged. “I couldn’t bear living in a world without you. There’s no reason to throw yourself into danger anymore.” 

“Fenris, you’re not proposing retirement are you? I’m not that old.” Hawke scoffed. 

“No, I suppose not. Just...enemies that are smaller than houses.” 

“I’ll try.” She promised, leaning her head on his shoulder. “What are you reading?” 

“The Emperors or Orlais by Brother Harlon Ascari.” Fenris answered. 

“Why don’t you ever read anything with steamy bits?” Hawke asked petulantly. Fenris chuckled. 

“I’ll read it to you regardless, if you would like.” There was a pride in that, he could read to her. He did often and he never tired of it. 

“I would listen to you read sermons if it meant I got to hear your voice.” She sighed happily. “You could make the chant sound absolutely sinful.” 

Fenris adjusted, bringing the candle closer to them as she rested securely against him. Then he began to read. 

 

The dawn carried a gloom and rainy mist that clung to everything. It also brought the Warden Commander to their door with a piece of parchment, looking particularly sheepish. “I’m sorry to trouble you.” She whispered to Fenris as Hawke slumbered peacefully behind him. “Zevran was so insistent he needed you to meet him first thing.”

“What is this about?” Fenris questioned impatiently. 

“Maker only knows. Zevran doesn’t always tell me what he’s doing or why. He went out after supper last night and came back several hours later. When he left again this morning he said it was vital that I wake you up and send you after him.” She sounded exasperated. It didn’t do much to instill faith in the assassin. 

“Me, alone.” Fenris found it hard to ignore instincts screaming that this was almost certainly a trap. 

“I trust Zevran, implicitly. Whatever he wants to tell you alone is most certainly important and probably illegal, since he doesn’t want me knowing.” Her forehead wrinkled and she folded her arms over her chest. “He’d never cause you any harm, however. Whatever it is, you should go.” 

Fenris finally nodded, looking over his shoulder at the sleeping form. 

“I will need to write a note. I don’t wish to wake her.” 

“Of course, here.” She held out a torn piece of paper. “Zevran said you should give this to a waitress named Sorcha. The inn is called ‘The Crown and Lion.’ It’s near the chantry.” 

Fenris looked at the torn paper, all that was on it were some indecipherable symbols. Chantal sighed. He looked up, confused and hesitant. “I can’t read it either. It’s a code he uses with his contacts, but he switches up the symbols pretty often. I’m pretty sure that bit on the end means elf, so it may be talking about you.” She shrugged. “He always used to go on about how awful it was that we kept finding secret plans in our enemies’ small clothes and wanted to ensure it didn’t happen to him I suppose.”

“Comforting.” Fenris quipped, “when Hawke wakes…” 

“I was hoping I could convince her to put on a cloak and let me take her on the tour.” Chantal offered easily. “I can’t have everyone knowing she’s here, but I don’t want her to feel like a prisoner.” 

“She’ll like that. Thank you.” Fenris inclined his head slightly. 

The Commander inclined her head as well, then turned and strode away. Fenris shut the door and leaned his forehead against it for a brief moment before turning to the writing desk. He carefully moved his quill over a creamy white sheet of paper, cautiously forming the letters. When he was satisfied, he began to tug on his armor. He left off the Amell shield, as had become his unfortunate custom. He couldn’t take the chance of the heraldry being recognized, but he tied the red ribbon carefully around the gauntlet before slipping out of the room. 

The city was already bustling and Fenris had to navigate a fair few crowds. 

Finding the inn wasn’t a problem, but his old habits hadn’t quite died. He circled the building and eyed the doors in the back and all the windows. He then settled against an opposing building and waited for a half hour, looking for signs of suspicious activity. He saw a milk delivery and a traveling merchant loading his cart, but nothing further. Finally, he steeled himself and entered the inn. 

It was remarkably clean and  well kept, Fenris had been expecting something closer to the Hanged Man. He scanned the common area, eyes lighting on an older woman with her graying hair tucked up into a severe bun. He gripped the torn parchment in his hand and approached her slowly. 

“Can I help you?” She asked, surprisingly warmly. “Don’t be shy dear, we serve elves as long as their coins good.” 

“I’m not here for a room.” He answered roughly. “Are you Sorcha?” 

“Aye.” She answered levelly. Fenris opened his gauntlet and offered the paper to her. She took it, smoothing the parchment and then laughing softly as she read it before sweeping her eyes back to his face. 

“This note instructs me not to waste time flirting with the handsome elf and to take you directly.” She giggled like a much younger girl and Fenris felt heat creeping up his neck. “Shame, if I were a bit younger…” 

Fenris was on the verge of storming out and assuming this was a joke when she turned and waved for him to follow. She walked up a set of stairs and down a hall, opening the farthest door to the left. She indicated Fenris should go in and shut the door quietly behind him. 

Zevran was reclining in an armchair in the corner. There were two small shapes in a bed at the end of the room. Zevran stood, smiling. “My friend.” he greeted. “Or should I call you cousin too, no?” 

Fenris was not sure he was quite ready for either of those, but his head tilted curiously to the bed instead of saying anything. Zevran indicated for Fenris to be quiet and offered him the other arm chair. 

“I am sorry to get you up so early, I know you had a long journey and could use your rest. I hated to be absent when they woke, though. These are two children I have recently smuggled into the city, a brother and sister in fact.” He explained quietly. “I didn’t want them to wake up alone in this strange place. They only arrived last night.” 

“Why in the Maker’s name are you smuggling children?” Fenris asked, trying to keep his voice neutral as his gauntlets clenched into a fist. 

“To protect them, of course.” Zevran explained innocently. “The last you saw me I was being hunted by Crows for killing a substantial number of their assassins and leaders. I suppose I am on a personal mission of revenge, you see. I was sold to the Crows as a boy, at the age of seven.” Fenris’s gauntleted hands relaxed and he felt a swell of relief rush through him. Zevran noticed and nodded, approvingly. “I thought you would see my point of view. Of the eighteen children purchased by the Crows that year, only two survived. Myself and one other. It is...a brutal initiation into a brutal world. Quick, clever children were beaten, starved, and turned against one another. We learned to endure torture, and if we didn’t learn quick enough or well enough, we were punished as an example to the other children.”

“And these children were to be purchased by the Crows?” Fenris asked. 

“They had already been purchased. After you and the Champion assisted me, I went to Antiva to make a point, a very sharp one, you see? There were eight children at the Crow’s base that I infiltrated. I killed the Crows and directed some friends of mine in Antiva to return the children to their families. It turns out most of them had been stolen, not sold. However…” Zevran indicated the two bodies in the bed. “These two have no family. I’ve brought children here before and Sorcha is always willing to keep them until we have a home for them. I’d take them to the keep, but it is technically illegal to smuggle children into Amaranthine. I just have to find a place for them to go, but I’d like to ask them for their thoughts. There is a tapestry weaver here, a widow who would take two children and apprentice them to her. If their fingers are clever enough it could be a good life. She’d teach them the skill and they could help her when she is old. Affection could even grow, she’s kind enough.” 

“This is a good thing you have done.” Fenris admitted. “I may have misjudged you earlier.” 

“Well, I have been flirting outrageously with your Champion, but can you truly blame me? They’re nearly twins, no? I suppose you wouldn’t approve of a group effort.” He sighed when Fenris felt his face turn fairly murderous. “No, no of course.”

Fenris let the silence fall and Zevran sunk further back into the armchair. “Chantal cannot have children. The ritual they partake of robs them of that ability.” Hawke was told that she couldn’t have children as well, but Fenris didn’t say that. It was a secret, not a common fact of an order that everyone knew. Anders had told her the Arishok’s blade had done too much damage to make pregnancy an option. Hawke had told him this, but said no more about it. “It also took most of her lifespan.” Zevran continued bitterly. “When she was eighteen, she was told she would be lucky to get thirty years. She has, what, ten years left? Fifteen? She will go to the deep roads and die among the darkspawn.” 

There was nothing to say. Fenris’s stomach churned unpleasantly as he pictured a woman who looked so much like Hawke, overwhelmed with the stench of blight, bleeding from fatal wounds, fighting desperately against darkspawn that would take her in the end. Fenris shut his eyes and shuddered. “You will go with her?” He asked Zevran. The other elf chuckled humorlessly. 

“Ah, yes. We are similar you and I, no? I will follow her, to the ends of the world or the Deep Roads, into the very Void gladly.” Zevran looked haunted, drawn and older now. “Until then, I do the good I can and she does what she can. Perhaps, she and I will leave the world a bit better than we found it. I’m sorry, this is very maudlin and tragic. I asked you to come here for a reason.” 

“I know my sympathy does nothing…” Fenris offered. 

“You are only mostly correct. It does little practically, but I appreciate the sentiment.” Zevran waved away his concern. “Now, before they wake, I wanted to tell you what these little birds mentioned last night. They asked me if it were true that elves here glowed blue and could rip a man’s heart from his ribs.” 

Fenris felt his own heart drop and growled. “Fasta vass.” 

“I told them it was a talent I had never heard of and asked them to explain. They told me a man had come from far away to the Crows and asked for a contract to be placed on an elf with your unusual abilities. I assume there are no others of your kind?” 

“Not that I’m aware of.” Fenris responded darkly. 

“I suspected as much.” Zevran replied easily. “Apparently word of your abilities has spread. The Crows wanted to charge a ridiculously high price, this man could not pay it. I anticipate no Crow would take the contract regardless, with your history of lethality.” 

“These children didn’t happen to learn something useful, like a name?” Fenris asked. 

“Unfortunately, names are not commonly used in the Crows. They are certain it was a man, that the man was not from Antiva, and that this person was a mage. I thought, perhaps, you have left someone who wants revenge for your old master’s death?” 

“He was little loved.” Fenris pondered. “Although I suppose it is possible.” 

“Regardless, I always want to hear if someone is attempting to purchase a contract on me. I like to take advance measures.” Zevran mused.

“But you wanted to speak to me alone.” Fenris pointed out. Zevran smirked. 

“Some things my dear Warden is happier not knowing about. She worries and I prefer to cause her less worry than more. This is your affair, and you are not currently in danger, I believe. It should be your decision to share the information.”

“Thank you.” Fenris responded sincerely. “I believe I am already in hiding again by default, but I shall keep an eye for enemies of mine as well as Hawke’s.” 

“You are most welcome, cousin.” Zevran said slyly. Fenris coughed a bit in surprise. “If you don’t mind, I’d prefer you leave before the little ones wake up. Your appearance is delightful, but also a bit intimidating for the young.” 

Fenris left the room to Zevran’s chuckling. He stopped in the market outside the chantry, looking at the brightly colored stalls as he drifted aimlessly. Who in the Maker’s name would be wanting to take a contract out on him? He’d place bets the foreigner was most likely from Tevinter, it would be just like a Magister to hire someone to do their dirty work then balk at the price. Slave labor was so much more economical than paying for a job. He wondered when this had occurred. Had it been Danarius, before his letter had reached his traitorous sister and the man had seen a cheaper opportunity? Perhaps another one of his apprentices, out for revenge and to make a name for him or herself? Was he truly safe? Was Hawke in more danger from him and his past? Should he tell her? 

The questions whirled in his brain as he browsed the stalls. There wasn’t a bookseller here, but there was a jeweler. The man was a dwarf and was explaining his methods to a well dressed woman and her chaperone, an older woman with a nose like a birds. Fenris smirked at the uncharitable thought and dropped his eyes.

They landed directly on the rings in the stall and his eyes was drawn to one in particular. He was breathless at the perfection of it - a wolf’s face fashioned out of gleaming gold with it’s jaws closed over a ruby set into a dainty band, the gem gleaming the perfect red color of fresh blood. All he could think of was Hawke joking about Fenris presenting the heart of the templar who had slapped her, dropping it at her feet. At a distance, the moment had been amusing, even if he hadn’t been able to see it at the time.

“Ah, I designed that one.” A younger dwarf approached Fenris. “My father doesn’t care for the design much. Says it’s too elfy and elves never have coin. Please don’t prove him right.”    
“How much?” Fenris asked. The younger dwarf smirked. “Forty sovereigns.” 

The money in his pouch was Hawke’s, but they had coin purses full of sovereigns. Varric had mentioned that he had money stashed in Amaranthine, part of his and Hawke’s rainy day fund. Varric had admitted he’d always anticipated Aveline would eventually be forced to attempt to arrest them and they’d need to go on the run. Still, he should try to barter…

“Thirty-five.” Fenris whispered. The dwarf shrugged.

“I can’t go lower than thirty-eight.” 

Varric would have driven a better bargain, but Fenris wasn’t Varric. “Deal.” 


	8. Your Majesty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris panics about his impulsive purchase. Chantal's mystery guest arrives with news and a plan. Merrill and Carver have their first fight.

Varric had to say, the Grey Wardens had a knack for food. He’d just finished what must have been a shining example of Ferelden breakfast, complete with sausage, eggs, fluffy muffins, and generous servings of bacon. Varric lingered over his meal, picking the brains of each Warden who happened to sit next to him. Finally, all the wardens began to filter out with the exception of Merrill and Carver, who had arrived together and very, very late.

“Thank the Maker there’s still food left. In the Marches, I’d have had to go hungry until lunch.” Carver murmured appreciatively. 

“It isn’t like you to miss breakfast.” Varric observed casually. 

“It’s my fault.” Merrill admitted. “I didn’t think the writing desk would fit out the window, but then I couldn’t get it back in. Carver had to help me.” 

“Wait, what?” Varric sputtered. 

“She’s serious, had half the damn desk out the window.” Carver couldn’t help his amazed smile. It must take a serious crush to make getting a desk out of a window seem exciting. Of course, he had helped Bianca clean up her errors pretty regularly. 

“Daisy, do I even want to know how the desk ended up out the window?” Varric asked. 

“Poor Isabela.” Merrill sighed. “After we got her off the roof, she said she was going to get a drink.” 

Varric couldn’t help the near hysterical laughter that bubbled up in his throat. Maker’s teeth, he hoped he eventually got the whole story. He could just picture Isabela out on the roof this morning, shivering in the fog like a wet cat. 

“Varric!” Fenris was at his side, looking just about panicked. Carver immediately began to stand up. 

“Is it Reyna?” Carver asked. 

“What?” Fenris stopped, looking at Merrill and Carver, then back at Varric. “No. I mean, yes. She is fine, though. She likes to sleep late, I left her in bed. I had errands to run. I need Varric, however.” 

“Errands?” Merrill asked, perplexed. “But you never run errands. Hawke has been buying your groceries for years.” 

“You also don’t have any money, Hawke has been paying for your groceries and gambling for years as well.” Carver added. 

“Venhedis, Varric!” Fenris implored. The elf was looking a bit green and Varric stood. 

“C’mon, Broody. It can’t be that bad.” Varric soothed.

Varric led the elf back up into the guest wing, sneaking past the room where Hawke still slept soundly and opening the door to his room. Varric sat on the edge of the bed so Fenris could take the chair, but Fenris seemed to have no use for chairs. He was pacing like a caged animal. 

“I have spent an outrageous amount of money.” Fenris started, bringing his hand up to his white hair. Varric was as shocked by this statement as he would have been if they declared Isabela the next Grand Cleric of Kirkwall. Fenris never had money, that was true, but unlike Anders he had never looked it. Fenris was known to loot the occasional corpse and the money he took was enough to keep Fenris in sword polish and wine. It wasn’t like anyone was trying to collect rent on that eyesore in Hightown. Any extra coin went to card games with Varric, Isabela, Hawke, and Donnic. Fenris wasn’t the best card player, but he hardly ever lost heavily. There had been several occasions where he’d had to wheedle some coin from Hawke for these gambling debts when he’d gotten too cocky or too drunk to make better decisions. Fenris didn’t look drunk now. 

“Broody, you never spend money. Hawke’s been after you to buy new armor for six years.” Varric shook his head, grinning. “What in the Maker’s name did you spend so much coin on?” 

Fenris turned a shade greener, spinning on his heel and pulling a small, wooden box. He pushed it into Varric’s hand and walked away, his hands going back to his hair. Varric sighed, running his hand over the polished wood and feeling the weight in his calloused hands. He couldn’t help the small, wistful smile as he opened it. 

“Well, Broody, I’m not sure it will fit on your finger.” He joked, running his hand over the wolf’s head, the ruby held between the golden jaws. 

“Don’t taunt me, dwarf.” Fenris mumbled. 

“It’s good quality. The gem is real, so you didn’t get ripped off.” Varric offered helpfully. “But if you’re looking for permission, you need to be talking to Junior, not me.” 

“Is… is that what I am supposed to do?” Fenris asked, hesitating just a moment. Ah, that’s what the panic was. He’d made a decision based on rules he didn’t quite understand. Did slaves in Tevinter get married? If they did, Varric was certain it was nothing like the marriages here between free people in the south. 

“Traditionally, yes.” Varric explained. “In practice, no, you shouldn’t. It’s tradition to ask the woman’s closest male relative for permission, but since that relative is Junior, I think Hawke would prefer you didn’t give him that power. The bigger issue is going to be…”

“That I’m an elf and she’s a human. A noblewoman.” Fenris interrupted. “I am a fool. I know.” 

“No.” Varric interrupted gently. “Fenris, that isn’t the problem. Well, I’m sure some people would count it a problem, but not Hawke, and not the people that care about her or you.” 

Fenris stopped his pacing, his green eyes staring intently at Varric. Varric suddenly wished he wasn’t the one who was telling the elf this. Honestly, he was shocked Blondie had never used it as a tool to beat Fenris with. “Broody...Fenris.” Varric began, awkwardly. “It is illegal for Hawke to marry. It is illegal for her to marry anyone in Ferelden, the Marches, and Orlais. I think Rivain allows it, possibly the Dalish let their mages bond although I think that may be different from marriage. I imagine it is the complete opposite in Tevinter.” 

Whatever Fenris had expected, it wasn’t this. “Hawke’s parents, Zevran and the Warden...” 

“Were probably never legally married. They may have found a sympathetic chantry mother, but it is entirely more likely they did a ceremony themselves in the Maker’s eyes and called it done or lied to some poor daft woman to get the ceremony completed.” Varric closed the lid of the box, sighing. “Broody, there was never going to be a big marriage ceremony for the Champion of Kirkwall. It’s probably why the Warden only uses her name officially. If you do this, I’ll consider it valid, as will our friends and Hawke’s family. The rest of the world will not.” 

“It’s cruel.” Fenris whispered hoarsely, his eyes on the floor. “She gives everything to protect strangers and she is not permitted to marry because of what she is. It’s no better than…” Fenris trailed off, but Varric had a pretty good idea the next word was going to be a reference to slavery.

“You told her once that there was nothing magic had touched that it hadn’t ruined.” Varric tried to keep all the judgement out of his voice and found it wasn’t that hard. This man wasn’t the same angry creature that had shouted those words, but he flinched all the same. “I’m not reminding you of that to be spiteful. I just want you to think, Broody. You can’t feel that way and tie yourself to her for life. If you still do…” 

“I don’t.” Fenris interrupted. “I didn’t mean it, even then. I was hurt and furious. I wasn’t think, I hurt her. It was unforgivable.” Fenris’s shoulders slumped. “She is made better by her magic, I’m not sure many are, but she has been.”  

Varric held the box back out to Fenris and the elf took it slowly, reverently. “On another note, I once came down to the bar at the Hanged Man and found her drunk at noon, crying into Isabela’s generous bosom.” Varric’s voice was menacingly light. “I never did get the full story, but I heard enough to know that Bianca owed you a visit. I stayed my hand once and gave you the benefit of the doubt that you were trying to figure things out. I won’t do it again, elf.” 

“Noted.” Fenris responded dryly. “I wouldn’t expect you to.” 

“Isabela will do it. She’s from Rivain, it’s common there. And she’s a real ships captain. At least your marriage will be semi-legal.” Varric offered. Fenris smiled, that small wistful smile he used more and more often. 

“How will I ask her?” 

“That is up to you, my Broody friend. I recommend you do what feels right, you seem to be the only man who can do wrong.” 

“And you.” Fenris snorted, placing the box safely back in his pocket.

“I’m not a man, I’m a dwarf.” Varric grinned. “You’ll think of something.”    
  


Fenris and Varric went to the Merchant’s Guild in the city and Varric arranged to have some of Hawke’s kept gold taken out to refill the purse. “She’ll never even know.” Varric winked. “She has no idea how much money she has at any given time. You and her will get along greatly with the stuff in your packs and your wits and this gold will just collect interest in the dozen or so cities I’ve got it stashed in.” 

“Perhaps someday she’ll want another house.” Fenris shrugged. Varric scoffed. 

“We are talking about the same woman, correct? I’m not sure she wanted the house she went to the damned Deep Roads to get.” 

“Every time you talk about the deep roads, you act more and more like it wasn’t your idea.”

“If I say it enough times, it may be true.” Varric sighed. He wanted to enjoy this bickering more, but there had been no letters waiting for him at the Guild in Amaranthine. Varric wasn’t entirely sure he’d expected there to be, but it was disheartening regardless. 

“There you are!” Hawke’s clear voice cut across the crowd. Fenris looked up immediately and was met by two women dressed in long cloaks with their hoods pulled forward. Varric could see under the fabric and smiled brightly. 

“Why are you both incognito?” He asked the figured in the scarlet cloak. Hawke laughed and Chantal shook her head inside the blue one. 

“I can’t go anywhere without being bothered.” Chantal complained. “When I first came here I used to be able to just go have a pint. To do that now, I’d have to go to the Free Marches.” 

“We wouldn’t recommend doing that just now.” Fenris advised. 

“Bit of a shithole, honestly.” Hawke agreed. “Particularly Kirkwall.” 

“It was my shithole, though.” Varric sighed and hawke leaned her elbow on his shoulder. 

“You know it isn’t the same without me. It’s probably been a boring few months. No blood magic, abominations, crazy qunari…” Hawke listed. 

“It’s Kirkwall, I’m sure there’s some new threat. Probably the whole city is dealing with homicidal nugs.” Varric smirked. 

“Oh! Or a herd of Druffalo that’s taken over Lowtown and refuses to move.” Hawke laughed. 

“Is this the type of trouble that follows you often, cousin?” Chantal asked, looping her arm with Hawke’s. 

“Only on Tuesdays.” Fenris grumbled, falling into step behind the two women. Varric rolled his eyes.

“Y’know, one of my Warden Recruits on  guard last night said there was one of those big writing desks and a woman on the roof with her tits out. I put him on dish duty for lying but now I think you may have something to do with it.”

“I did not!” Hawke protested. 

“It was Daisy, Rivaini, and Junior. And despite being desperate to know, I haven’t figured out what they were doing yet.” Varric let the ladies guide them into the market. 

“I should put them on dish duty.” Chantal grumbled.

“Only if you’re not attached to your current dishes.” Fenris remarked wryly. 

 

When they made it back to the keep several hours later, Zevran was waiting. “Mi amor!” He called, reaching out for Chantal. She pulled her hood down and ran into his arms. He picked her up and kissed her passionately, his hands hooking under the woman’s shapely thighs and wandering up to her pert bottom. Fenris looked away quickly and Hawke giggled. Varric coughed.

“You are more beautiful now than you were this morning, how do you do that?” Zevran asked as he pulled away. 

“My secret.” Chantal purred, releasing her hold on the elf and turning back to her guests, eyes sparkling. She mouthed the word sorry at Hawke and Hawke shrugged her shoulders, bemused. 

“Your other guest has arrived, ransacked the kitchen for all your cheese, and taken over your study.” Zevran informed her. “My offer to assassinate him still stands, mi amor.” Chantal lightly hit his shoulder, giggling. 

“Come on.” She insisted, inclining her head. “He’s here for you, not me.” 

“I disagree.” Zevran pouted. “I think he shows up here to eat you out of house and home.” Chantal continued to laugh as she entered her tower, climbing up to the floor just below their guest rooms and opening the door. 

The man was a giant, particularly among the decor that was much more suited to the small woman. He was reclining on a sofa that his legs hung off the edge of, papers and a massive plate of half eaten crackers and cheeses displaced delicate glass sculptures and fresh flowers. A mug of ale perched precariously on the edge of the sofa. Chantal placed her hands on her hips and raised an eyebrow.

“I am not your maid.” She was trying hard to sound angry, but even Varric could hear the giggles underneath. The man looked up and tried his damndest to look boyishly innocent. It was a look the face beneath the dust could pull off remarkably well. His hair was probably blonde, but looked as if it had been combed through with some herb to give it a darker tint. He’d done that before on a tryst with Bianca. There was a scruffy, ill-kempt beard clinging to his face that made him look older. 

“I was hungry and tired. It’s a long way from Denerim.” The man protested. “I’ll clean up, little witch, I promise.” 

Chantal’s giggles bubbled over and she threw herself at the man, who caught her small frame up in a bone-cracking hug. She kissed his cheek and laughed at the dust there. “Ali, you’re filthy.” 

“It’s a disguise!” The man protested, but Varric had just felt the other shoe drop. By the looks on their faces, so had Hawke and Fenris. 

“Should we...should we kneel?” Hawke asked.

“Please don’t, his head doesn’t need to be any larger. It already doesn’t match his body.” Zevran had already begun to tidy up, shaking his head in disgust and putting the small objects back precisely in their place. 

“No, no!” Alistair laughed, setting the small Warden back on her feet. “King Alistair never comes here, he’s a bit of a prick. I’m Warden Duncan,” Alistair winked, extending his hand to take Hawke’s hand and bent low to kiss it politely. “Pleasure to meet you for exactly the first time, Champion.” 

“The King of Ferelden leaves his country unattended to play Grey Warden?” Varric asked. There was a story in there somewhere, he’d have to clean the names up and possibly make it a romance. 

“It’s not unattended! I’m in bed with the flu, or a whore. I can’t remember what I told my uncle. He’ll take care of things until he goes to find me and discovers I’ve slipped his noose, again.” Alistair sighed. “Then he’ll pretend I’m still there and business is as usual to forestall panic while he frantically tries to find me. I show up a few days later and nobody is wiser.”

“And you did this to see Hawke?” Fenris asked. 

“Well, I like to see Chantal and Zevran, even if he doesn’t like to see me.” 

“I like to see the back of you, leaving.” Zevran sniffed disdainfully. 

“But this trip is mostly for you, Lady Hawke.” Alistair smiled, genuinely. “I’m...sorry about your circumstances.” 

“Not sorry enough to pay an official visit.” Varric warned Hawke. 

“Pay an official visit to a wanted apostate? That would kill Teagan, and if he dies then nobody is there to watch the country when I decide to take off for a few days.” Alistair shrugged apologetically. “Politics.” 

“Beggars can’t be choosers, Varric.” Hawke said smoothly, sitting in one of the armchairs across from Alistair. Approvingly, Varric noted that Fenris didn’t sit down but stood behind Hawke’s chair with a raised and challenging eyebrow. 

“I have brought news.” Alistair said apologetically, moving his legs so Chantal could sit beside him. “Your friend, Sebastian Vael? He’s well on his way to taking back Starkhaven. His cousin, Goran Vael, is as stupid as a nug dropped on its head. I don’t know if Sebastian is much better, I’ve always had a thing against raving fanatics.” Alistair shrugged. “Regardless, I’ve heard his threats to attack Kirkwall and root out Anders and everyone that ever helped him. He won’t be in a position to do that for years.” 

Hawke nodded, running her hands through her own hair. “That doesn’t surprise me. He seemed quite determined.” 

“Well, he’s also begun to reinstate the Templar order in Starkhaven. And he has...ordered your capture and return to the Free Marches. He stated he prefers you taken alive, but would accept your death if you resisted. He’s given a rather good description of you and sent it out to every major chantry in every country. I have...intercepted the ones meant for Ferelden.” 

Fenris hissed and Varric swore, but Hawke remained composed, though pale. “That was kind of you.” 

“I’m not about to start taking orders from a Chantry welp calling himself a prince.” Alistair snorted. “It was about the most heavy handed thing I’ve ever seen, and I fought an Archdemon.” 

“He’s hurting.” Hawke said simply. 

“He is trying to get you killed.” Fenris growled. Hawke sighed. 

“I’ve been watching for Anders as well, I thought there would be a chance he may come to Ferelden and that one I’m not willing to stick my neck out for, but unless he slipped past my agents he’s not come. Last we heard, he was heading north.” Alistair said. “Hopefully he goes to Tevinter and bloody stays there.” 

Varric was inclined to agree. “Wynne wrote me after that disastrous council meeting. Did she write you?” Alistair asked Chantal. Chantal smiled sadly and shook her head. 

“Wynne loves me, but she knew I’d never support her efforts to keep the status quo. Something needs to change in the Circle, Alistair. I’m not in favor of blowing up chantries, but it can’t stay the same.” 

“Well, she said the general feeling among the mages right now is that Hawke is a hero. The templars are bit more unsure, but you have an admirer in Knight Commander Cullen Rutherford.” 

“Knight Commander?” Varric asked, with a whistle. 

“I’m not sure he had much of a choice.” Alistair shrugged. “I remember him, wasn’t he a bit in love with you, Chantal?’ 

“Everyone is a bit in love with her, she can’t help it.” Zevran protested.

“Uldred and his demons tortured him. When I last saw him, he wasn’t the boy I remembered. I hardly think I’d know the man he is now.” She smiled sadly at Hawke. “But I heard he let you go, and that’s a start.” 

“And of course, Kirkwall is still up to its neck in shit. Guard Captain Aveline is doing a good job taking care of civilians, but the templars are at all out war with mages that came back swinging from the college of Enchanters. I suppose Cullen is trying to broker some sort of peace.” 

“The news from Starkhaven is particularly bad, cousin.” Chantal sighed. “Some templars are angry and they will take your capture as a challenge.” 

“I do have an offer for you.” Chantal looked up, raising her eyebrow and opening her mouth.

“Don’t be concerned.” Alistair put a finger to her lips. “I won’t take advantage of your cousin. It would be far too much like taking advantage of you...which would be just like taking advantage of a sister.” Alistair shuddered. 

“Your offer?” Hawke asked. Alistair grinned, boyish again.

“Stay, in Ferelden. Come home.” He offered genuinely. “I’ve got a fair amount of control over the chantry here, and I can guarantee the crown won’t put any resources into finding you. I can’t bring you to court, but I can leave you unmolested in the countryside as long as you stay out of trouble. I even have a job you may be interested in.” He handed Hawke a piece of paper and continued speaking. “I have a slaver problem, and I don’t quite have the resources I need to root them out. Loghain invited them into our alienage to make some coin back during the blight, and since then they managed to spread into the countryside like cancer. They’re quick and clever, taking a few of the most vulnerable people at a time from small villages bordering the wilderness. I think they’re mostly shipping slaves out of Gwaren or through an unmarked pass out of the Frostbacks and into Orlais. I’d be thrilled if someone were to take care of it.” 

“Slavers. It’s always slavers.” Fenris growled. 

“It could work, staying in Ferelden.” Chantal thought aloud, pulling out a map from Alistair’s papers. “Ali, I have Warden safehouses throughout Ferelden when we were trying to clean up after the blight. Mainly, my Wardens just use them if they’re close and don’t want to sleep outdoors. I can take a few off my official lists and say they were sold. You could move between them.” 

“I’d pay you, for your work with the slavers. I could have an agent drop off coin at one or more of the houses on a regular basis.” Alistair offered generously. 

Hawke chewed on her lip thoughtfully, before looking up at Fenris. Varric could see the gears working in the elf’s head. “I don’t think you should decide here, now. We can take one more night, yes?” Fenris phrased it like a question, but there was no mistaking the demand.

_ Ah, Danarius, _ Varric thought.  _ You bastard, you created the strongest man I know and let him lose to destroy you. May you drown in the void. _

“Fair enough.” Alistair said cheerfully, popping a piece of cheese in his mouth. “I’ve got at least three days before someone comes looking for me.” 

Varric thought he heard shouting and saw Fenris look over his shoulder towards the door, shoulders tense. Chantal rose, eying the door suspiciously. “You sure?” She asked brightly. 

The door burst open, but it wasn’t an angry Arl looking for his king. It was Carver Hawke, his skin flushed red in anger and eyes blazing. He pointed at Hawke, glaring. “This is your fault. We should never have come here.” 

“What? What did I do?” Hawke demanded, standing and tossing her head back. Varric automatically moved to in between them. 

“Kitten, stop.” Isabela called as Merrill slipped in as well. Her eyes were rimmed in red and wet with tears. Hawke noticed immediately and moved towards her.

“Merrill, what happened?” She asked sweetly. “Do I need to beat up Carver? Please tell me I need to hit him.” 

“No. I want to be a Grey Warden.” Merrill rushed out. “But Carver…” 

“Absolutely not!” Carver growled. “I won’t allow it.” 

“Carver!” Merrill called out. 

“It is out of the question!” Carver yelled. 

Fenris must have felt the magic in his marks first, because he pulled Hawke away from the lighting that burst from the ceiling just a moment before it did. Of course, the bolt didn’t hit anyone, but it did cause the hair on Varric’s chest to stand straight up. 

“Maker’s breath!” Varric took a step back himself, looking at the smoking carpet. 

“Warden Hawke.” Chantal seethed quietly, stepping forward. She looked ten feet taller now with her staff in her hand. She didn’t need to raise her voice, this was the woman who’d slain an archdemon. It was a completely different face from the giggling girl. “I seem to recall that you are here as a guest, not to shout orders.” 

For a moment, Carver looked like he might fight back, but he backed down. Thank Goodness, because Varric would have hated to scrape him off the ground. Carver turned around and shoved out of the room, past Isabela. Merrill’s shoulders shook and Hawke reached forward, tugging her into a warm embrace. 

“I still get all tingly inside when you give orders.” Alistair commented, popping another piece of cheese in his mouth. 

“It is not my insides that tingle.” Zevran’s grin was wolfish and he wiggled his eyebrows at Chantal, who broke into giggles again. 


	9. Assassination

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris asks a question and gets an answer. Chantal and Zevran are woken up rather rudely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut about halfway through (and a wholly indecent amount of fluff) NSFW

Merrill burst into sobs when Carver stormed out and was folded into Hawke’s arms, Isabela coming behind the two small women and wrapping them up in her arms as well. “There, there kitten.” Isabela crooned, playing with one of Merrill’s braids. “Sometimes men just feel the need to shout.”

“Maker, Merrill. A Grey Warden, to stay and put up with Carver? What awful thing are you trying to make up for?” Hawke tried to tease with a small smile.

“But Hawke, I think he loves me.” Merrill looked up with green eyes shining with wetness.

“Course he does, Kitten. You’re very lovable.” Isabela soothed. 

“But it isn’t up to him! It’s up to you.” Merrill wiped her face with the back of her hand and broke away from both Hawke and Isabela, tossing her head back with fierce defiance and making eye contact with the Warden Commander. Chantal very studiously avoided looking up at Merrill, eying the smoking carpet instead. 

“I’m sure Warden Hawke explained all the reasons you shouldn’t do this.” She said quietly, peeking up through her brown waves. Fenris caught sight of Zevran’s shoulders slump just for a moment, heard Alistair’s sigh. 

“But it isn’t just that, is it?” Merrill challenged. “You saved the world! You keep people safe, you have a clan here. It’s… vhenas. Home.” 

“She has a point there, Chantal.” Alistair agreed happily. 

“I disagree. I have drank many things in my life, but darkspawn blood is not one I choose to imbibe. You could die, my pretty elf friend, sooner rather than later.” Zevran pointed out darkly. 

“But it is my choice.” Merrill protested. “Lethallan, tell them it is my choice.” Merrill directed her pleading gaze to Hawke. 

“She’s right. It is is her choice. But there’s no need to rush this, Merrill.” Chantal said gently. “I’d have you take a night’s rest and truly consider everything Carver has told you. If this is still what you want tomorrow morning, of course I’ll help you.” 

“Ma serannas.” Merrill gave a small half-curtsy, holding her hands out to her side. She nodded, holding her jaw tightly before nimbly spinning away and heading out the door.

“I don’t think she’ll change her mind.” Fenris observed. “That’s the same expression she had when she smashed that damned mirror.” 

“Perhaps, but I’ll rest easier knowing she’s slept on it.” Chantal remarked.

“I’d rest easier if someone announced their intentions before raining lighting bolts from the ceiling.” Fenris challenged, raising an eyebrow at the small woman. She burst into laughter. 

“It loses the effect if you announce it, but I am sorry for frightening you. Here!” She turned to the cabinet by her desk and pulled it open, selecting a dark red bottle and holding it out sheepishly. 

“I was not frightened! It is merely irritating.” Fenris eyed the label on the bottle, before taking the gift. 

“You knew it would happen before it did.” Alistair mused, eying Fenris with a warrior’s appreciation. “I mean, so did I, but I’ve fought with Chantal. She always scrunches up her eyes when she summons lighting.” 

“I do not.” Chantal protested. 

“She twitches her nose for a fireball. It is remarkably endearing.” Zevran smirked, kissing the Grey Warden’s cheek as she blushed. 

“Maker, I will make you two bunk together!” She threatened. 

Alistair had least had the grace to look properly chastened. Zevran just continued to smirk suggestively. “I meant, that it was impressive.” Alistair muttered darkly.

“Thank you.” Fenris tried  to keep the annoyance from his voice. 

“Would be very helpful fighting slavers.” Alistair remarked and Chantal groaned. Fenris turned and eyed Hawke, hoping he was providing the appropriate signal with his eyes that it was time to go. Hawke picked up the message, standing and stretching. 

“We’ll consider what you said.” Hawke promised. 

“Do it over that wine, Chantal always has the best.” Alistair sounded quite appreciative. 

“Let them go, Ali.” Chantal chided. “I’ll open a bottle for you too, we want to catch up with you and we have some things to talk about…”

“A less precious bottle, mi amor.” Fenris heard Zevran begin as their group began to depart. “We don’t waste the good stuff, si?” 

“Funny, that’s what I told Chantal when she married you.” Alistair griped as Varric shut the door. 

“Maker, those three.” Varric shook his head. “They sound like us.”

“Someone has to go talk to Carver and Merrill.” Isabela sighed. “We need to talk Kitten out of this or talk little Hawke into it.” 

“Well, you’re an expert at talking people out of things, Rivaini.”

“I’m an expert at talking people out of their pants, Varric. But, I can try. Hawke, can you try with your brother?” 

Hawke snorted. “I’m the worst person to talk to him, Isabela. He still disagrees with anything I suggest on principle.” 

“I’ll handle Junior.” Varric offered. “Guess that leaves you two on your own.” He cast a meaningful gaze at Fenris. 

“Don’t act like we’ve gotten off easy.” Hawke teased, pointing to the bottle of wine Fenris was holding. “Someone has to drink this, we’ve valiantly volunteered.” 

“Lucky bitch, you have a handsome elf, bottle of wine, bed big enough for three…” Isabela trailed off suggestively. 

“No.” Fenris interjected immediately. Isabela sighed theatrically and sauntered off, Varric behind her smirking. .

“Varric seemed very invested in giving us alone time.” Hawke remarked carefully. “What were you two up to this morning?” 

Fenris felt his stomach tighten in anticipation as he took her arm, guiding her down the stairs from the Warden’s fine apartments and back to their guest quarters. “I will tell you, but not here.” He answered evasively.

“Mysterious.” Hawke commented lightly, her voice teasing. “Is it naughty too? Those are my favorite kind of secrets.” 

Fenris smirked and opened their bedroom door, holding it gallantly for Hawke as she untied her cloak. Fenris opened one of the desk drawers, looking for something to open the wine bottle. Hawke settled herself near the fireplace and added new logs to the grate. When she’d stacked them nicely, she dragged her finger down the logs and they caught fire with a cheerful crackling. Hawke had a tiny, self satisfied smile as she jumped on the edge of the bed, unlacing her boots. 

Fenris found a corkscrew and opened the bottle with a flourish, sniffing the wine and savoring the heady aroma. 

“We didn’t get glasses.” Fenris frowned, looking around the room. 

“That hasn’t ever stopped us before, has it? It’ll be just like old times.” Hawke patted the bed beside her and Fenris smiled, sitting down and leaning against the headboard in the center of the bed. He stretched his legs out, feeling the warmth from the fire slowly seeping into the room. Hawke clambered up the bed, pausing silently on her knees before him and angling her head in a silent question. Fenris nodded and she straddled his lap, facing him with a grin. 

She was fully clothed, but when she was like this Fenris had to stop his mind from wandering to the thought of peeling off her leather breeches and having her naked, wanton body on top of him for his admiration. He would do that, later, but first… 

He took a steadying sip from the bottle, enjoying the flavor of dark chocolate and some sort of citrus. Hawke watched, patiently. “How is it?” She asked as Fenris took a second sip and held the bottle out to her. 

“It is quite delicious. I believe that Zevran has remarkably good taste.” He conceded.

“Quite a compliment coming from you!” Hawke’s face turned playfully shocked before she took her own sip of the wine. “Mmmm… I like this more than anything we found in your old cellar.” 

“You prefer Antivan wine over the Tevinter vintages.” Fenris remarked. “The Antivan tends to be sweeter.” 

“Don’t let Zevran hear you say that.” Hawke teased. Fenris couldn’t help but let his hand reach up to the edge of her lips where a drop of wine lingered. He brushed it away and Hawke’s lips opened under his touch. Fenris shoved down his immediate, animalistic reaction. 

“You are so very beautiful.” Her murmured, tracing his fingers down her swan’s neck, over the linen shirt covering her tempting breasts. “The most beautiful thing I have ever seen. I thought that the first night I saw you.” 

“You did a very good job of hiding it.” Hawke remarked wryly, handing the bottle back to him. Fenris took another, larger sip. 

“I was… confused by the intensity of the feelings you stirred up. I was so immediately attracted to you, and you were a mage. I hated you, as well, but I owed you a debt. Then...I paid it, but by then…” Fenris sighed, letting his hand rest on her waist. “I had begun watching you so I’d be ready to strike when you became a threat. Then the debt was paid and I was convinced you were no threat, but I couldn’t stop watching you.” 

There was the truth of it, plain and clear. He remembered the fear the first time he realized he was watching her because he wanted to see that long braid brush across her shoulders, or the special smile she reserved for her brother when he was on her nerves. He wanted to hear her laugh and kiss the soft curver of her lips. While he’d been watching for danger, his heart and soul had been lost to the tiny mage with the heart of gold and wicked sense of humor. 

“I thought you’d never see me, only my magic.” Hawke admitted, her own fingers brushing over his linen shirt. She looked up at him through her eyelashes. “I hated that you hated me.” 

“I see you now. All of you.” He whispered. He saw the scars from battles barely won, the way she made everything better with a joke and a smile. Her magic was a part of her, a beautiful part. “I may never feel comfortable in the company of mages, but I trust you amata. If you are good, then other mages must be as well.” 

“Fenris!” Hawke giggled, her face a delightful shade of pink. She took the bottle from him and sipped it herself. “This must be some wine.” 

Fenris chuckled, sitting up and pulling her closer. He placed his forehead against hers and took the bottle from her hand, placing it on the nightstand. “I did something this morning that you may find foolish.” He admitted sheepishly. 

“I don’t know if I could ever find anything you’ve done foolish.” Hawke pondered, brushing her lips over his. “I will admit you’re fanning my curiosity.”

Fenris reached to his hip, to the pouch hanging from his belt and opened it. He kept his eyes locked on hers as he pulled out the wooden box. “I’ve bought you a ring.” There was a lump in his throat now, an irrational fear scratching wildly in his mind. 

This, this is where she would finally laugh at him. He had no fortune, no name, no skills beyond killing. Hawke, who was skilled at so much and more beautiful than Andraste herself, could find better. She had a noble name, a fortune of her own. She couldn’t squander it on him, her elven lover. She would toss the box into the flames and rip out Fenris’s heart as surely as if she had reached into his chest. 

“Fenris…” She whispered, awed, leaning away from him to look at the wooden box between them. 

“I know I have no name. I have nothing beyond myself and my sword.” He whispered back. “But I will follow you into the void itself. I will remain at your side, always. I will have this future for us and make you happy, Reyna, I swear it.” 

“It isn’t allowed.” Hawke’s hands were shaking and there were tears in her eyes as her fingers traced tentatively over the box. “I’m not allowed, Fenris, I’m a mage and an apostate. You’d be tying yourself to a criminal. If they found out, you’d have committed a crime as well.”

“Fasta vass, I’m already committing a crime by staying with you, aren’t I?” Fenris growled. “I’ve been committing this crime for six years.” 

Hawke laughed, but it wasn’t the cruel sound his mind had supplied (honestly, he’d never heard Hawke’s laughter turn cruel like Danarius’s had). It sounded like it was choked with sobs, but it was bright and clear. She met his eyes and there were tears there. 

“May I see it?” She asked. Fenris nodded, flipping over the lid of the box. Nestled inside on silk fabric was the ring, golden and perfect. Hawke reached out, tracing her hands over the wolf’s head and smiling softly. 

“Are you saying yes?” Fenris asked desperately, he needed to hear it. If he didn’t hear it, this could be a dream. He could be misunderstanding this ritual. 

“You haven’t asked properly. You have to ask the question.” She pressed, smiling. “Then you have to put the ring on my hand when I say yes.” 

“Which finger?” He asked, taking Hawke’s small hand in his own. She wiggled the finger nearest her pinky on her left hand and Fenris brought the hand up to his lips, brushing a kiss over her knuckles. 

“Reyna Hawke, will you marry me?” He asked softly, he could hear his own heart pounding in his chest, feel her pulse under his hands. Her blue eyes burned brightly and Reyna leaned into him, her lips against his. 

“Yes.” She whispered against his mouth. “Yes, my love.” 

Fenris pulled back to slip the band over her knuckle, onto her finger. It fit perfectly and she smiled, delighted. Fenris admired the gold and red on her delicate hand. She giggled. “How much did this cost? Is that why Varric had to run off with you this morning? Carver and Merrill were so confused.” 

“I was concerned about how much coin I spent.” He admitted. “But Varric was pleased with it.” 

“Oh, I’m sure. He wins the bet now with just shy of two weeks left. He promised me half if he won.” Hawke grinned. 

“Isabela promised me half is she won, so we were fine either way.” Hawke’s cheerful laugh was contagious and he chuckled as well, before she grasped his face in her hands, gently and softly stroking his cheekbones. She leaned in and kissed him again, full of longing and promise. Fenris wrapped his arms around her, his Hawke. 

“You can have my name.” Hawke was tugging off her linen shirt, revealing her stomach and breasts bound by the stiff bustier. He tugged at the laces behind  her back, desperate to see her, hold her.

“I’d wear it with honor.” He gasped as her hips rolled, rubbing against his hardening length through their pants. She was wearing entirely too much clothing and he couldn’t bear it. He finally caught the laces and pulled them free slowly, watching as her breasts were freed like unwrapping a long awaited gift. He tossed the offending garment on the ground as she tugged on his own cotton tunic. He disentangled himself from her long enough to allow her to pull it off before he was on her lips again, biting her bottom lip and making her cry out in delicious, pure need. Her hips wriggled under his hands as he pulled down the thin leather and her small until they got stuck on her spread thighs. She obligingly assisted, lifting one leg, then the other, for him to continue removing the garment. Then she was as gloriously naked as he’d wanted her. His hands cupped her pert ass and pulled her, skin to skin, to him. His lyrium marks tingled as they touched her, feeling her mana and reacting in a way that made him almost dizzy with pleasure. Once, there had only been pain, but now there was Hawke and her hands only healed his broken, jagged pieces. 

“I love you.” She whispered against his lips, her hands gripping his shoulders tightly. “Maker, Fenris, I love you.” 

“Stay with me.” Fenris pleaded as she rubbed against his aching need. “Forever. Stay with me.” 

“Always.” She whispered, her hands gently pushing him back. He allowed himself to settle on the pillows as she rose above him like a goddess, one of the Elven creators made flesh. She tugged impatiently at his pants and he assisted, raising his hips so she could pull them down and off. Her small hand wrapped around his cock and Fenris hissed his head falling back. 

She let her fingers trail up and down his length gently, teasing, watching his reaction. Unbidden, his hips thrust into her fingers, groaning at the feel of her soft skin. She leaned down and placed a soft kiss on the head of his manhood and Fenris couldn’t help his lips from forming her name. 

“Do you want this?” She asked, continuing to stroke languidly. Maker, he shouldn't. How dare he force this goddess to kneel at his feet? But the thought of staring down into Hawke’s beautiful blue eyes as his cock glided in and out of her mouth made all the nerves in his body light up. A stream of Tevene fell from his lips and Hawke waited patiently, continuing to stroke until Fenris could take it no longer. He swung up, positioning himself on the edge of the bed. Hawke grabbed a pillow and settled herself, kneeling, between his feet. 

The sight alone was enough to make his cock jerk. She kissed in between the lyrium lines dancing up his thighs, looking up at him again through her thick lashes. “You’ll stop me, if you need to?” She asked. Fenris nodded, breathless, watching as her lips crept closer to his aching cock. 

When she finally reached him and licked from his base the whole way down his shaft, Fenris nearly jumped. He groaned, his hands clutching the edge of the mattress. She raised her hand, the one with his ring, to rest on his thigh as she opened her mouth. Fenris was enraptured, watching his cock slide into her warm, waiting mouth. The feeling was indescribable, hot, wet, her tongue sliding around him. Then she hollowed out her cheeks and he felt suction and pressure. His hips jerked into her in response and Fenris froze. “Maker, Reyna, I’m sorry.” He whispered hoarsely. Reyna looked up at him wickedly, all blue eyes and pale skin and a small smattering of freckles over her nose, before pushing closer to him and letting his length slide further into her throat. 

Fenris wouldn’t be surprised if the whole keep heard him chanting her name as she began to bob up and down his length. His hands moved to her hair, tangling in the dark strands as she took his hard cock. Her breasts bounced, the hard nipples scraping deliciously against his legs and she hummed happily. Fenris could feel himself tightening, his breath labored. “Reyna, if you don’t stop…” He sounded needy, desperate to his own ears. Instead of stopping, Reyna pulled his cock almost the whole way from her mouth before working him back in with a wicked gleam in her eye. Fenris was moving her head now, his grip in her hair tightening as he struggled not to take over, not to pound into her, but he was lost and his orgasm was building and he could feel her blue eyes on him as his seed began to spill into her mouth and she sucked it down greedily. 

His hand fell uselessly from her air and he took great, shuddering gasps of air. She looked like the cat that had just gotten into the cream, preening and self satisfied. He reached for her, gathering her into his arms as she giggled softly, her hands tangling in his hair. He could feel her own hot wetness against him. “And how was that, my dear future husband?” She teased, nipping at his ear. 

“A moment, and I’ll show you.” He promised and she laughed, pressing her lips to his. Fenris could taste himself on them, something metallic, possibly the lyrium. Then there was salt, a hint of the spindleweed he used to make sword polish. Beneath that, was Hawke. She was elfroot and honey and sweet rolls. And she was his.

 

They didn’t make it to supper, but nobody came looking for them. Fenris suspected that was Varric’s doing. They made love, then slept, then woke and made love again for falling back into sleep. He was awoken by Hawke’s stomach growling late at night. 

“We missed dinner.” She complained fitfully. 

“I offered to get you something, but you wouldn’t let me leave the bed.” Fenris assumed a haughty tone and Hawke rolled her eyes, smirking. 

“I didn’t hear you complaining then.” She trailed her fingers down his chest. “Do you think we could sneak into the kitchens and get some cheese and bread from the pantry?” 

“I’ll do it, you stay here.” Fenris pushed her back into the pillows. “I’d like to come back to you naked and waiting.” 

“As my Lord Husband commands.” Hawke purred sultrily, burying under the sheet. Fenris couldn’t help the bright smile that lit his features and Hawke sighed, smiling up at him. 

“You look years younger tonight.” She commented. 

“I am very happy.” Fenris admitted, holding her hand for a moment to his heart. “Happier than I ever dreamed.” 

“I hope I always make you this happy.” Her stomach rumbled again and she laughed. “If I don’t starve to death first.” 

“I’ll be back soon, I promise.” He let go of her hand and reached for his trousers on the ground and the linen shirt. Pulling them on, he made his way to the door and eased into the hallway. He had just reached the stairs when he paused, bewildered. There was a noise above him that he couldn’t quite place, then a shrill cry. There was a pull of mana that he felt in his lyrium markings, then something shattered and something else slammed into the ground. Instead of going down, into the kitchens, Fenris started up. He made it up two steps before he heard Zevran. 

“Wardens! To your Commander!” 

Swearing, Fenris took the rest of the steps two at a time, racing to the next floor. There was the door to the dining area, another to Chantal’s study, and two other doors. The first was locked, but the second was opening before Fenris even made it there. A woman was trying to escape, but there was a very athletic, very naked elf on top of her. He was holding a dagger in his hand, pushing her down into the floor as they toppled out the door. The dagger was at the woman’s throat immediately, nicking into soft skin. 

“Mi amor! Chantal!” Zevran called, before catching sight of Fenris. “This assassin attacked the Warden Commander. She has been injured. I need a healer.” 

“Zevran, I’m fine, I…” The voice inside the door was a bit weaker than it should have been and descended into a worrisome hacking cough. Fenris turned, prepared to race down the steps, but Hawke was already there, clutching the sheet around her like a dress. 

“Fenris, thank the Maker.” She reached for him, biting her lip with worry. Her staff was in her other hand, emitting a faint white glow in the darkened hallway. 

“Your cousin.” Fenris indicated the room behind him and she pushed past both elves, brightening her staff to look at the destruction. There was ice clinging to many of the surfaces and shards of it sticking out from the carpet. The sheets were ripped off the bed, as if the occupants had fled from it in seconds. There was a large pool of blackness on the left side, glinting in the light of Hawke’s staff. Hawke swore, ducking down beside the bed to the small, nude figure there as well. The blood was pouring from a stab wound in the woman’s rib cage, just below her heart. 

“Glad to see you.” Chantal said weakly, then coughed again. Bright blood stained her lips. 

“Don’t talk.” Hawke ordered. “Fenris, help me get her onto the bed.” 

Hawke seemed to have forgotten her cousin was naked, but perhaps this wasn’t the correct time to bring it up. Fenris reached down, as gently as possible cradling the womans form as Hawke hovered. She winched and Fenris could feel labored breathing, but she didn’t cry out in pain. She was a tough as Hawke. 

“Maker’s breath, Zevran.” Was that the King? Fenris couldn’t tell, but thought so. “What in Andraste’s flaming knickers is this?” 

“Watch the assassin, let Zevran in here.” Hawke called, handing her staff to Fenris apologetically. “Amatus, I need my hands and I need the light. Can you please…?”

Fenris nodded, taking a step back and holding the staff over Chantal. Hawke examined the injury critically. Zevran was at her shoulder quickly, reaching out to take Chantal’s hand. 

“Mi amor, it isn't so bad, no?” Zevran’s voice was light, but his knuckles were white and there were tight lines around his eyes. “You've come through worse.”

“Good news, you'll come through this.” Hawke started, her hands beginning to glow warm and blue as she started to knit together the wound. “Zevran, do you know where the weapon is? I can smell deathroot in her blood, I think it was poisoned.” 

“I will find it. You can heal her?” Zevran asked, his tone sharp.

“Course I can.” Hawke said confidently. “I got the lung almost fixed, breathing easier, cousin?” She asked easily. 

Chantal nodded, pale but calm. Zevran’s posture eased a bit as he broke his vigil to locate the assassin’s weapon. “I can beat the name of the poison out of the assassin.” Alistair offered cheerfully. The assassin spat onto his armor and laughed hoarsely. 

“Mage whore.” The female assassin sneered. “Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him. Foul and corrupt are they who have taken His gift and turned it against His children. They shall be named Maleficar, accursed ones. They shall find no rest in this world or beyond.” Fenris recognized that Chant and rolled his eyes.

“Ah, a fanatic. My favorite kind of crazy.” Alistair remarked, digging his elbow into the woman’s stomach and wiping her spit onto her own tunic. 

“No need, my friend. We will save the beating for later.” Zevran remarked darkly, returning with the blade. “It is certainly deathroot. I have an antidote, will she do well to take it now?” 

“Sooner the better, it shouldn’t be a lethal dose, but the antidote will ease the pain.” Hawke explained. “Almost done.” She soothed Chantal, brushing the woman’s hair back gently. Fenris eyed the wicked looking dagger, examining the hilt.  

“That looks Orlesian.” He remarked.    
“It’s always the Orlesians. Can’t trust them as far as you can throw them.” Alistair grumbled, leaning close to the assassin. “Don’t suppose you’ll make it easy and just tell us who you are?” 

“I am one of the most faithful, called to great service.” The woman rasped. 

“Course you are.” Alistair rolled his eyes, getting up off the floor and dragging the woman with him. “Chantal, any opinions on dealing with this?” 

“I will handle it.” Zevran interrupted immediately. 

“No.” Chantal broke in. “Take her to Warden on watch outside, Ali.” Chantal coughed, but no blood stained her lips. She took a deep breath as the wound began to grow smaller and smaller and she took the proffered vial from Zevran. She downed it. 

“Mi amor, she tried to kill you in our bed.” Zevran’s eyes narrowed. “That is a grave mistake, an example should be made.” 

“Obviously we were in our bed, we’re both naked as the day we were born.” Chantal croaked. 

“I wasn’t going to mention it.” Hawke said diplomatically. “But if we’re going to talk about it now, I want you to know that I only peeked a little.” 

Fenris just about choked on his own tongue and quickly grabbed the blanket, throwing it at Zevran. The other elf caught it, amused. 

“Warden on watch duty gets the prisoner. I’m assuming prisoner gets searched and thrown in the dungeon, correct?” Alistair repeated, his hand over his eyes. “Any other instructions?”

“I want a full search.” Zevran demanded and Chantal acquiesced with a roll of her shoulders. Hawke stepped back, admiring her handiwork. Chantal blushed softly. 

“I believe I have a tunic somewhere…” She reached toward the armoire. Zevran was there in a moment, pulling out something blue and embroidered and draping it over her. 

“Maleficarum!” The woman screeched. “Blood mage! You have blood on your hands! The corpses at Soldier’s Peak rise screaming your name!” 

“That’s enough from you.” Alistair growled, his cheerful demeanor falling. “Out.” 

“Are you a blood mage?” Fenris asked warily. Chantal smiled wanly.

“It’s not something they teach in the tower, so no.” She shook her head. “The wardens were doing blood magic at Soldier’s Peak, however. Long before my time, ages ago. We killed the person responsible during the blight. How does she know that?” Chantal tipped her head up to look at Zevran, but Zevran was eying the blood on the bed. 

“You scared me, mi amor.” He whispered. “I should have been more careful.” 

“Zevran…” She called softly. “You can’t be awake forever.” 

“Ah, but it is my job to sniff out these threats before they climb through our window, no?” Zevran asked bitterly. “If there was no healer here, you could have drowned in your own blood.” 

“I didn’t.” Color was rising to Chantal’s face. 

“I must check and make sure nothing else is suspicious. I will send servants to clean up. Would you please stay with her while she recovers?” Zevran asked, all politeness towards Hawke. Hawke nodded and Zevran backed out of the room gracefully, melting into the shadows.

“Oh Maker, he’s going to be impossible for the next few weeks.” Chantal whispered, shaking her head. “The Wardens need to know what is going on. Nathaniel Howe is my second in command here, can you please find him? He sleeps in the barracks.” 

Fenris was reluctant to leave Hawke, but she looked wide awake and furious. Hawke nodded and angled her head to the doorway. “Send Carver up if you’re nervous, he’s got a big sword and he likes to use it.” 

Fenris nodded, handing the staff back to Hawke and disappearing down the steps. 


	10. Conditions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merrill and Carver leave with Howe for the Deep Roads. Hawke asks for something Alistair is reluctant to give. Chantal brings Zevran a surprise while Hawke and Varric have a heart to heart.

Varric hated missing out on a good story, and an assassination attempt on the heroic savior of Ferelden had to be one of the best stories he’d had the misfortune to sleep through. The brave hero, cowardly run through in her own bed, saved only by the quick thinking of her handsome lover and cousin she had sheltered from cruel injustice. Of course, he had made Hawke repeat the whole story to him three times, despite the fact she’d barely slept. 

“Bullshit.” Varric called as she got to the part about Zevran melting into the shadows again, clad only in a blanket Fenris had thrown at him. “I keep waiting for you to fuck it up and tell me the truth there.”

“I swear to the Maker and Andraste’s holy tits, Varric.” Hawke held up her right hand solemnly. “We had a nice chat waiting for him to come back, it was nearly dawn. Fenris fell asleep in her chair holding his damned sword.” 

“And did that chat have anything to do about that lovely ring on your finger?” Varric finally asked, delighting in the flush creeping up Hawke’s face as she held her hand out.

“You’re still good to pay up half your winnings?” Hawke asked, watching the light pass over the stone. 

“I’ll apply it to Broody’s gambling debts.” Varric teased, kicking Hawke’s shin under the table. “I am pleased, I figured when you didn’t show up to dinner.” 

“We talked more about Alistair’s offer.” Hawke dropped her voice low. It was early in the barrack’s kitchen and the Grey Wardens were mercifully pretty occupied with their own security problems. “I can’t help but think, me being here caused this.” 

“That crazy bitch didn’t even know you were here.” Varric protested. “She was after Chantal.” 

“I’m the one who stirred all this up, Varric.” Hawke brought her slender hand up to her head. “It would do everyone good if I could just disappear into the Ferelden countryside for a bit. It’d give everyone a chance to calm down.” 

Varric mulled this over, staring into his coffee. He wanted to fight with Hawke, tell her this most certainly was not her fault. It was Anders and his agenda and Meredith and her agenda and Hawke caught in the middle. Hawke, however, was excellent at shouldering the burdens of others, and she wouldn’t listen. “I thought you were done with indentured servitude.” He grumbled instead. 

“I’ll be getting paid this time, which is an improvement.” 

“You don’t want me to come.” Varric said flatly, Hawke winced. 

“You’re my best friend.” She reached out, wrapping her hand around his upper arm. “The situation in Kirkwall isn’t getting any better, though, and you could help. Aveline needs you. Besides, Fenris and I will draw enough attention on our own.”

“I will endeavor to be more inconspicuous.” Fenris remarked dryly as he sat opposite them, a plate of eggs and sausage in his hands.

“And you’re on board with this, Broody?” Varric asked. Fenris rolled his shoulders and sighed. 

“There are worse things than killing slavers for coin. I’ve been doing it for free. My alternative suggestions…” 

“Which included going to Antiva, Rivain, or Maker damned Tevinter itself.” Hawke pointed out in between forkfuls of eggs. 

“Were dismissed as being unreasonably far from the Free Marches.” Fenris finished. 

“Well, Varric.” Isabela had appeared out of nowhere and nearly deposited herself in Varric’s lap, causing a general disruption. “I sincerely hope you had more luck with little Hawke, because kitten is convinced. We’d have to tie her down and flee. Not that I’m directly opposed to that, mind you, I’m always up for playing with ropes.” 

Hawke sighed, standing. “I’ll try, where is she?” 

“I’m right here, and I’ve already spoken to the Warden Commander.” Merrill’s voice was clear, unafraid. Varric sighed, dropping his head to look at the table, scratching at the marred surface. 

“Merrill, sweetheart.” Hawke said kindly, taking Merrill’s scarred hand in hers. “You don’t have to do this. You could die, we…” Hawke stopped, biting her lip. “I’ve lost so many people, Merrill.” 

“But you will be okay, we all die Hawke.” Merrill soothed, patting Hawke’s head. “Lethallan, I won’t die today.” She promised. 

Varric stood, shaking his head. “Daisy, if you’re doing this… Junior will want to see you before you go. Let me go get him.” 

Merrill frowned, considering. Her eyes grew distant and serious and her hand clenched on the staff she was carrying before she nodded swiftly. “I’ll wait and have breakfast first. Chantal said she needed to find a Warden to go with me.” 

Varric walked with dread eating away at his insides. He didn’t have to look far for Carver, the man was saddling a horse in the inner courtyard looking absolutely wretched. 

“You’re not leaving, are you Junior?” Varric tried to keep his voice light, but the frown in Carver’s face only deepened into a scowl. He tugged at the horse’s harness and refused to meet Varric’s eyes. 

“The Warden Commander has already been to see me.” Carver explained. “She told me that Merrill is set on this and I had three choices, I either stay and let it happen, get on a ship and go back to the Free Marches, or I go and help. A Warden has to go and help with the Joining. She’s sending Howe, but I’m allowed to join.” 

“So, you’re going with her? She’ll appreciate that, Junior.”

“If she dies out there, I’ll be there to bury her body.” Carver gripped the edge of saddle tightly, hanging his head. “Maker, Varric, if she dies out there…” 

Nathaniel Howe led another horse over, patting Carver’s shoulder. “Don’t get your knickers all twisted, Warden. She’s young, healthy, and powerful. She’s a great candidate, the Commander only accepts those most likely to survive the Joining.” 

“How long does this take?” Varric asked Howe, his eyes narrowing. “When will we know if this went well?” 

“If all goes well, we should be back by tomorrow evening. We must venture into the Deep Roads, but there’s an entrance not far.” Howe answered solemnly. “There’s no guarantees for a Grey Warden, and there’s a chance we may all die any time we go into the Deep Roads, but I’m feeling reasonably confident.” 

“Great.” Varric sighed.

“Here they come.” Howe jerked his head back into the barracks behind Varric and he turned toward the subdued group led by Chantal, all except Merrill who was wearing a bright smile. The small elf launched herself at Carver, wrapping her arms around his neck. 

“You’re coming!” She trilled. “I never thought you would. You said you’d never speak to me again if I did this, but I knew this was the best way to make sure we could be together.” Merrill babbled.

“Together?” Carver repeated, surprised. Merrill blushed and Howe coughed loudly. 

“Commander, I’m always happy to supervise a Joining, but are you sure this is the best day to do this? You could use your second, right?” Howe asked tentatively. Chantal rolled her big brown doe eyes. 

“Maker’s holy arse, with Zevran on the warpath I don’t think I’ve been safer in years. He’s determined to get the bottom of it, Howe. Don’t worry your pretty head about me.” 

“Why, Commander.” Howe teased, swinging himself up onto his horse. “I didn’t know you thought I was pretty.” 

Chantal shot an exasperated expression at Hawke, who simply shrugged her delicate shoulders in an understanding answer. Chantal then fixed her eyes on Merrill, sighing softly. “Last chance, Merrill. You don’t have to do this.” 

“Ma serannas, Commander. This is what I want.” Merrill answered calmly, smiling sweetly back. 

“May your creators go with you, then. And I’ll ask Andraste and the Maker to watch over you as well.” Chantal backed away, indicating Hawke and Isabela. Both women stepped forward, grasping Merrill to their chests. 

“Come back safe to us, kitten.” Isabela whispered. “If any Darkspawn come after you, remember to throw Carver at them.” 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Merrill.” Hawke kissed the elf’s cheek, then looked up at her brother. 

“Carver…” Hawke began. 

“Yeah, I know. Bring her back safe.” Carver glared at his gauntlets. 

“Andraste’s tits, stop being an ass. That’s not what I was going to say.” Hawke pulled away from Merrill, placing her hand on her brother’s gauntlet. “I want to tell you…” Hawke’s voice dropped lower “Whatever happens, Carver, it isn’t your fault. This is what she wants.” 

Carver was silent, looking down at his sister. He said nothing, finally placing his other gauntleted hand over hers. Hawke nodded, taking a step back. 

“We’ll have a game of diamondback when you get back Daisy.” Varric plastered on a grin, letting the elf kiss him on his stubbled cheek. 

“I don’t remember the rules, but I’ll try for you Varric.” She giggled, then turned to Fenris. “Ah, you won’t want a hug, will you?”

“No, thank you.” Fenris shifted awkwardly before holding his hand and grasping Merrill’s briefly, shaking it up and down before dropping it quickly. “I believe this will be good for you, ma...Merrill.” 

“Thank you! That’s the nicest  you’ve ever been.” Merrill grinned and turned to Carver. “Will I be riding one of these? They’re much larger than halla, I’m not sure I know how.” 

“Here, you’ll ride with me.” Carver offered her a boost up onto the large horse, then swung up after her, settling behind her. Carver took the reins and saluted the Warden Commander, who returned the gesture with a smile. They then rode out the open gates, Merrill’s giggles coming back to them on the wind. 

“C’mon Hawke.” Varric took the woman’s arm, guiding her away as Isabela stared forlornly at the retreating figures. “Let’s get a drink and discuss how we can improve on this offer of his majesty’s.” 

 

In the end, Hawke only wanted one thing from Alistair that he hadn’t offered and she was immovable. She crossed her arms over her chest, leaning against the window seat in the Commander’s study and staring down the King of Ferelden the same way she’d stared down Meredith and Orsino. Alistair looked decidedly uncomfortable as he shifted on the delicate sofa, eyes flicking helplessly to the door as if waiting for someone to come in and rescue him. Fenris was smirking and avoiding eye contact, tracing his fingers over a parchment map of the Breccilian forest. 

“I believe you heard the Champion.” Varric said smoothly, setting his cup of coffee back on the delicate white saucer. “In exchange for entering your Majesty’s service, she is asking for the sanction of the king to marry.” 

“I could hire someone with much less political risk.” Alistair edged. “Maker’s breath, if the Chantry finds out I performed a marriage ceremony for an apostate who sheltered the crazy Warden who started this whole damn mess.” 

“You could.” Hawke smirked. “But they wouldn’t be as good as Fenris and me.” 

“You’re asking me to break my own laws. I may not agree, mind you. I love apostates, would’ve made a damn terrible templar.” Alistair shook his head. “But this law has been on the books for ages.” 

“I think in extraordinary circumstances, a king may make exceptions to his laws for someone who has gone above and beyond the call of duty.” Varric said smoothly. “For example, someone offering to risk their safety to perform clandestine and dangerous operations for said king.” 

“Void take you, I’m already offering to turn a blind eye and keep the chantry off your tail in my borders.” Alistair growled. 

“For which we are very grateful, but other countries are available with fewer ties to the Chantry overall. Rivain, for example.” Fenris cut in smoothly, his eyes still glued to the map. 

“You’re not even my subject.” Alistair pointed at Fenris. 

“No, but I am, unless I renounced my Ferelden citizenship while I wasn’t looking.” Hawke’s voice was sugar sweet. “Perhaps you should ask Arl Teagan to clarify the rules. I’m sure Chantal can send a fast rider.” 

“Oh I’m sure.” Alistair snorted, standing from the sofa and pacing over to the bookcase. The door to the study opened and the Commander herself slipped in with Zevran shadowing her steps. Alistair glared at her and Chantal froze before gently smiling at him. 

“Whatever it was, Ali, I didn’t do it.” 

“I may have done it.” Zevran remarked, although his voice was flat and Varric noted the former assassin looked absolutely exhausted.  

“I’m sure you’ve had nothing to do with this! Do you know what they want? A king’s sanction to break the law and marry!” Alistair fumed. “And I’m sure the idea came to her on her own and had nothing to do with the last person who asked me for this favor.” 

“You’re getting married!” Chantal exclaimed, delighted, clapping her hands together. “That’s wonderful news! Did he get you a ring? Let me see!” 

Varric chuckled as he watched the small mage coo over the jewelry on Hawke’s finger. He lifted a challenging eyebrow at Alistair as the king deflated. 

“Ah, no, that wasn’t us.” Zevran smirked. “Our clandestine marriage was very much between the three of us until this moment. Of course, I’m unsurprised that they had the same idea to force you to do it, they are cousins.” 

“For the love of the Maker, you do realize it still won’t be legal in Orlais or the Free Marches? And if someone finally does manage to kill me, I can’t guarantee the next person to get this blasted job is going to look kindly on my bad decisions.” Alistair moaned, flopping down onto the sofa again. The furniture groaned under his weight. 

“You already did it once, your highness.” Varric grinned. 

“He drew up the declaration and signed it himself. It was the sweetest thing he’d ever done for us.” Chantal giggled. “We keep it in the safe, just in case.” 

“You can’t tell anyone I did this, not with the whole mage business about to burn down around our ears.” Alistair raised his finger. “And I barely know the marriage ceremony, so don’t expect it to be pretty.”

“Shall I get you a piece of parchment and a quill to draw up the declaration?” Fenris offered, looking far more pleased than Varric had ever seen him. Alistair grumbled and nodded, rubbing his palm across his face.

“When will we do this?” Alistair asked. “Sooner the better, before I have a chance to consider how bad of a decision this is.” 

“Tomorrow evening will be best.” Varric drawled as Fenris unfolded himself from the window seat. “When Merrill and Carver are back.” 

 

“A party!” Isabela squeals in delight when she is told about the upcoming nuptials. “To celebrate your last night of freedom from the ball and chain!” Isabela has been down and out all day and mostly drinking, but she holds her alcohol well. 

“Am I the ball and chain?” Fenris asked, his brow wrinkling.

“Isabela…” Hawke groans, but Chantal looks equally excited. 

“Oh, I know the perfect place. We’ll sneak out.” She lowered her voice conspiratorially. 

“After you survived an assassination attempt, mi amor?” Zevran questioned nonchalantly. Chantal pouted, then brightened. 

“We’ll take some of the female wardens.” She answered his concerns. “The only reason the assassination attempt got so far was because we were sleeping, and you said there’s no trace of other assassins in Amaranthine.”

“Simply...be careful.” Zevran asked, then smiled broadly. “As careful as you can be, no?” 

“Always!” Chantal kissed the elf’s cheek before her and Isabela manhandled Hawke between them. 

“Don’t wait up for us, boys.” Isabela blew a kiss to Varric.

“Wait, I’m not sure…” Hawke protested, laughing as they led her away. Fenris shook his head before turning to Zevran. 

“It will be safe?” He asked quietly. 

“The assassin has been interrogated...thoroughly.” Zevran swirled his whiskey in his glass. “It appears that she is part of a fringe cult operating from Orlais. They believe that eliminating all mages will solve their problems.”

“Orlesians.” Alistair made the word sound like a curse, Varric approved and topped off the other man’s whiskey. 

“There may be links to minor Orlesian nobles, but I’ve investigated every Orlesian in Amaranthine. I believe they are reasonably safe, for now.” 

“And the assassin?” Alistair questioned. Zevran’s smirk turned hard. 

“Unfortunately, didn’t survive her interrogation.” The elf answered, raising his glass to Alistair. Alistair returned the smirk with a brittle grin of his own, clinking his glass with Zevran’s. 

“Does she know?” Varric asked, shuffling cards as he observed the other three men. 

“She knows that the assassin is dead and that I am to blame. She was a bit angry, but she never can stay angry for long.” Zevran shrugged. “She is cute when she is angry, no? Have I ever told you how we met?” 

Alistair snorted. “You’re right, if it had been up to her we’d have the assassin joining the Grey Wardens, or worse.” 

“Worse?” Zevran’s eyes widened in mock shock. “You wound me, my large and smelly friend.” 

“I have to hear this story. I’ll tell you how Fenris and Hawke met.” Varric offered as he started to deal.

“Unnecessary, dwarf.” Fenris growled. 

“Oh you must!” Zevran protested. “Well, I took a contract on the last Grey Wardens in Ferelden…” 

 

Varric woke up to an unholy amount of giggling outside his door at two in the morning. He lifted himself from the bed with one arm as the other reached for the candle. Before he could fumble for it, the door creaked open and three women crashed onto his floor in a tangled pile of limbs. Varric sighed and sat up. The laughter from the floor intensified. 

“Andraste’s ass, are you all drunk?” Varric asked. “I’m getting a candle, hold on.” 

“Oh! I can light it!” A burst of flame shot up from a pale hand, spinning and solidifying in the air. This was exactly what Varric needed more of in his life, he thought ruefully, drunk mages. 

“Hawke, quit it.” 

“I’m not Hawke!” The mage responded with mock outrage and the fire burned brighter. The two other women giggled more and Varric groaned. “And it is my keep!” 

“Listen, giggles.” Varric responded and Isabela hooted.

“A real nickname, Warden! He must like you.” Isabela winked and the fire went out as Chantal burst into a fit of giggles again. Varric burnt himself on the matches he was using to light the candle, but finally got it lit as he slipped from the bed. 

“Don’t you girls have your own rooms?” He questioned as he leaned down and reached for what he thought was Hawke’s arm. He pulled up the Warden commander instead who clutched to his shoulders. 

“Maker, Isabela wasn’t lying!” The Warden said, her light fingers brushing against Varric’s arm. “How do you fit those muscles in that jacket?” She asked curiously. 

“It’s a public service.” Varric groaned, steadying the first figure and steering her toward the edge of the bed before reaching for the other pale arm and bringing Hawke up.

“If he let them lose in Kirkwall, it’d be a rampage of desperate women.” Hawke grinned, kissing Varric on the forehead. “They told me I can’t sleep in my bed, Varric. They already told Fenris.” 

“It’s bad luck!” Isabela declared from the floor. “We have to leave her with a trustworthy person instead to protect her virtue, if she has any left after all the Elven…”

“Isabela!” Hawke shrieked with laughter, collapsing beside her cousin. 

“Well, I guess that rules you out Rivaini. Any leftover virtue would be gone come morning.” Varric muttered, pouring water from a jug into a glass and pushing it into Hawke’s hands. 

“I’m taking Isabela upstairs as a surprise.” Chantal used a sing song voice then giggled again. “Zevran will be so pleased and he’s worked so hard.” 

Varric felt himself blushing as he tried to erase that spectacular image from his brain. “But Hawke will be safe here, with you and Bianca.” Chantal stretched leisurely out, smiling. 

“Bianca and I are always up to it for our favorite mage, despite the unholy hour.” Varric agreed, patting Hawke’s head. 

“Bianca…” Chantal repeated as Isabela lifted herself from the floor, her eyes far away. “Y’know, Ali calls his shield Morrigan.” 

“Pretty name, unusual.” Varric muttered. Chantal nodded, allowing Isabela to lead her from the room. Varric shut and locked the door behind them and returned to Hawke’s side. 

“I’ve had entirely too much to drink, Varric. I’m sorry, for everything.” Hawke’s wide blue eyes were catching the candlelight. She looked too young suddenly, lost and small. “I never meant for any of this…” 

“Don’t get morose on me, Hawke.” Varric said, unfastening the cloak she was wearing and throwing it over the chair. “Get your boots off and we’ll have one last night passed out in my bed before you get married tomorrow. Just like at the Hanged Man.” 

“Maker’s ass.” Hawke grinned, bemused. “Can you believe he’s marrying me?” 

“Always thought he would, Hawke.” Varric took the glass from her as she bent over her boots.

“Do you think Carver and Merrilll…” Hawke began. 

“They’ll be back in time tomorrow, don’t you worry. We’ll wait for them.” Varric interrupted. 

“Course they will.” Hawke nodded, dropping one boot to the floor and gazing wearily up at Varric. “Oh, I’ll miss you.” 

“Not for long.” Varric ignored the tightness in his throat as he stood before Hawke, with her sitting she was just the perfect height for him to fold her into a hug. “You’ll be back in Kirkwall soon and your trusty dwarf will be waiting for you. I promise.” 

“You can’t promise that.” Hawke’s arms tightened around his. “Maker, I’ll get you all killed.” Her voice was dangerously close to a sob as Varric rocked her back and forth. “I already ruined...with Bianca, oh Varric I know it’s my fault…” 

“It’s not your fault.” Varric dropped a chaste kiss on her dark hair. “Not your fault Hawke, you’ve done nothing wrong. Being your friend has been worth every minute of this mess.” 

“You’re my best friend, Varric.” Hawke sniffled. 

“You’re mine too.” Varric promised, brushing her hair off her face. “C’mon, boots off and bed.” 

 


	11. Forced Seperations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris and Hawke get married and flee Amaranthine.

_ Fenris could hear liquid dripping, slowly and irregularly. He was in Danarius’s mansion and it was unbelievably quiet. There were no vendors outside or gossiping housewives. He couldn’t hear the city guards’ armor or the bells of the chantry. All he could hear was his own breathing and the irregular dripping magnified by silence to the sound of a drum.  _

_ He gripped his sword in his hand as he followed the noise through the rooms, through the great hall, into the kitchen full of moldy food and corpses littering the ground. There was a trap door which led to a root cellar, it was open and he could hear the dripping sound. Fenris swung through the opening, landing gracefully with his sword ready for an attack that never came. His eyes took a moment to adjust to the gloom, a tunnel leading out of the root cellar, framed by flickering green torches.  _

_ There was no tunnel leading out of the root cellar, his mind argued. Here it was, though, incontrovertible evidence. Perhaps it had been revealed through magic? Fenris moved through the cellar warily, his heart racing. The lyrium in his body flickered as he approached the tunnel. Don’t look, his mind whispers traitorously. Fenris can’t help himself as he peers past the green torches.  _

_ The body he loves is almost unrecognizable, flesh carved away in graceful patterns that would be beautiful, if this wasn’t horrific. He can see muscle and bone. Her hands are chained above her head, fingers bloody. Her long dark hair hangs limply, matted with blood and Maker knows what else. There is a sword buried in her abdomen up to the hilt right where the Arishok’s blade had pierced her. The dripping noise he heard was her blood dripping into an overfilled basin of blood underneath her. She doesn’t move, she doesn’t take a breath.  _

_ “A fitting end for a maleficarum?” Meredith is there, in the shadows, her eyes aren’t red like they were before she died, they’re burning blue like the hottest kind of fire. “She’s all ready to practice blood magic now.”  _

 

Fenris woke up choking on the air in his lungs, his first slamming into the bed beside him. The empty bed, Maker. He flung himself from the mattress and was almost at the door with his sword in his hand before he remembered Hawke’s giggles from the door of Varric’s room down the hall, Isabela’s finger pointing into his chest as she reminded him it was unlucky to see his bride.  _ His bride. _ The thought calmed enough to make him drop his sword and dash a hand through his hair before looking around their chamber. Dawn must have just broken outside, he could hear the first early risers of the keep moving in the courtyard. He was getting married this evening.  _ His love was dead in the root cellar. _

Fenris shuddered in silent horror as he moved to the door again. Perhaps he was mad, but he had to check. He slipped from their chamber and into the hallway, making his way to Varric’s door. It was locked, good sign. Fenris knocked as loudly as he dared. He waited the space of two heartbeats then knocked again slightly louder.

“Nug shit, I’m coming.” He heard Varric grumble and the creak of the bed. Fenris counted the dwarf’s steps then took a step back himself as the door opened. Varric looked him up and down and shrugged. “Sorry Broody, I’ve got orders. You’re not to see her until tonight.” 

Fenris wanted to tell Varric where he could shove his traditions, but thought better of it. They could really use all the luck they could get. “But she is well?”

“She’ll be a bit hungover when she wakes up, got a bit maudlin when they brought her in. You know how she gets when she’s had too much to drink.” Varric waved his hand in the air, brushing off the concerns. “I’ll get some food and water into her and she’ll be good as new.” 

Fenris let out a sigh of relief and nodded, jaw tightening. “What about you?” Varric asked, examining him critically. 

“It is nothing.” Fenris said immediately, backing away from the door. 

“You think I don’t know about those nightmares, you’d be wrong.” Varric stepped out into the hallway after him, closing the door behind him. “They’d been better on the ship though.” 

“Did Hawke tell you?” Fenris couldn’t quite hide his irritation at the thought of Hawke telling Varric something so personal. Varric snorted. 

“Of course she didn’t. I regret to inform you the walls of that house in Llomeryn weren’t nearly as sound proof as you two seemed to think. I’ve had to have many awkward conversations with Daisy regarding your bedroom activities.” Fenris shrunk back even further, embarrassed. “But what really bothered me were all those whispered conversations when you woke in the middle of the night. I’m your friend too, elf. Let me help.” 

“What can a dwarf know of nightmares?” Fenris asked, irritated.

“I know a lot about fear.” Varric answered. The two men stopped and stared at each other. 

“I can’t talk about it.” Fenris felt his throat swelling in panic. Varric held his hands up, a gesture of supplication. 

“Alright. I’m here if you need me. Go take a walk or something.” Fenris nodded, eying the door until Varric sighed theatrically. “You used to go days sulking in that trash heap in Hightown and now you’re acting like spending a few hours away will kill you.”

The door on the far side of the hall opened and both Varric and Fenris turned to look at Isabela as she sauntered down the hall. “Thank Andraste’s sweet tits you’re both awake, we have problems. A scout just woke Commander Magic Fingers and informed her a half dozen templars entered Amaranthine this morning.” 

“What? From where?” Fenris challenged, bristling. 

“The White Spire, which has to be even worse than any backward circle in the Free Marches. These ones are coming right from the Divine’s knickers.” Fenris bit back a curse. The White Spire was in Val Royeaux, the heart of the Orlesian empire. Varric, though, was grinning. 

“Well, if I know one thing about Fereldens, they love to be completely unhelpful to Orlesians. At least we have that working for us.” He explained when he caught sight of Fenris’s glare. “Nobody in this city will give them the time of day, particularly if they start asking questions about Giggles. You may not have noticed, but Fereldens everywhere would fall on their swords for her in a second.” 

“That’s what she’s counting on, but she’s asking us to all stay put right now until she finds out what they want. The problem is Merrill and Carver are out there and should be getting ready to come back now if…” Isabela paused, a flash of hurt on her face before she choked it down and covered it up. “If all went well. They’ll be walking into a viper’s nest and they don’t know. We have to stop them and tell them to sneak directly up to the keep.” 

“I’ll come with you.” Fenris’s thoughts immediately went to chatting, talkative Merrill being interrogated by Templars. Every templar in Thedas would know everything in two hours, especially if Merrill was trying to keep it secret. They very well couldn’t have that happen. Isabela’s face shown with relief. 

“Tell Hawke we are still getting married tonight if I have to kill six templars myself.” Fenris growled, turning on his heel and stalking back to their chamber.  

“And some people think romance is dead.” Varric sighed. 

 

Fenris and Isabela left the city on foot, tracking to a grove Chantal had mentioned overlooking the main road into Amaranthine. The city was hidden behind gently rolling hills to their north. The sun crept up into the sky as the two of them sat facing the meandering road. Fenris put his idle fingers to work, pulling a whetstone from his pack and using it to further sharpen his sword’s edge. Isabela flopped on the green grass beside him, eyes closed and chest rising and falling slowly. 

“You don’t have to work for the king, you know. I’d marry you on my ship and you could stay with my crew.” Isabela offered. “We could all be raiders together! Wouldn’t it be fun?”

“Your definition of fun and my definition of fun have always widely differed.” Fenris eyes Isabela speculatively, trying to hide that slight twitch of his lips that could give into a smile so easily. “I suppose this is your way of saying you’ll miss our company?” 

“Of course I will! Seven years of following Hawke...I’ll certainly miss the view.” Isabela smirked at the disgusted noise Fenris made before opening one eye and staring at him. 

“I let down Hawke once. I never intended to do so again. She is a good friend, a better one than I have deserved. You, on the other hand, are probably exactly the kind of friend I deserve but I’ll miss you regardless.” 

“As I will miss you, Isabela.” Fenris responded quietly. “It has been an experience to have gained a friend like you. I believe we will meet again.” 

Isabela’s smile softened for a moment into something soft as she stretched like a cat in the grass. Fenris picked up his stone again and proceeded to wait. Isabela’s breathing had just drifted off into snores when Fenris picked our riders coming from the east. “Isabela!” He hissed, prodding her with his gauntlet. “I believe that is them.” 

Isabela grumbled as Fenris stood, hanging back in the shadows at the riders drew closer. They were riding at an easy pace, leisurely as the two men spoke. Isabela was up beside him now, peering into the distance. “Do you see her? Is she with them?” Isabela asked Fenris, her worry evident in every line of her face. 

Fenris opened his mouth to answer, but Merrill’s bright twinkling laughter across the hills answered for him. Isabela’s face shone with pure relief as she ran full kilter down from the trees, her arms spread wide. Fenris put away his sword and followed, shaking his head in bemusement. Isabela stopped beside the road and raised her hand up in the air, gesturing wildly with gold jewelry glinting magnificently in the road. “Kitten!” She shouted, laughter ringing in the air. 

“Isabela!” Merrill’s voice shouted back. Carver barely managed to stop the horse before Merrill was sliding from behind him like quicksilver, running as quickly down the road before launching herself into Isabela’s waiting arms. Isabela kissed both of Merrill’s cheeks before pulling back and examining her critically. Fenris let his glance slip over the elf as well, she certainly didn’t appear different. 

“Well, did they grey your warden?” Isabela drawled saucily. 

“Well, yes. I’m afraid it wasn’t a very nice experience.” Merrill drooped for a moment before perking up when she saw Fenris hanging back beside Isabela. “I can’t believe you are here too, lethallin. Where’s Hawke?” 

“At the keep.” Fenris answered as Isabela sighed, squeezing Merrill’s shoulders one last time before letting go. 

“We have a bit of a good news, bad news situation I’m afraid.” Isabela explained as the two men on their horses drew up to them. Carver slid from the horse’s back with a scowl that seemed to have lost just an edge of ferocity.

“Course we do. Sister wouldn’t let her pet elf out alone without a situation brewing.” Carver crossed his arms over his chest, armor clanking threateningly. Fenris ignored the jibe and looked at the other Grey Warden. 

“Your Commander was informed a half dozen templars arrived in Amaranthine this morning.” Fenris advised. 

“Well, that’s certainly ominous.” Howe mused, stroking his chin. “I suppose they weren’t looking to join the Wardens? That would make it too easy.” 

Carver swore, hand drifting to his sword automatically as he scanned the surrounding countryside. “We won’t be able to enter through the city, but we need to get back to the keep.” 

“Oh, that’s easy.” Howe grinned. “We’ll drop these horses off at a farm just outside the keep and make our way up through the caves. It’s a bit of a rougher trip, but nobody knows those caves are there except Grey Wardens.” 

“But what’s the good news?” Merrill asked, reaching up to pet the horse’s muzzle. Isabela laughed again, eying Fenris with a contented smirk. 

“We have a wedding to get back in time for.” Isabela commented. Carver glared at Fenris and Fenris returned it with a small smile. 

“But who is getting married? One of the Wardens?” Merrill persisted. 

“Fenris decided to take the big old plunge off the gangplank, kitten.” Isabela nudged the elf gently. “He’s going to make an honest woman out of Hawke.”  

Carver muttered something under his breath, but it was lost in Merrill’s squeal of delight. “We will need to gather flowers on our way back!” She declared, eyes sparkling at Fenris. “You can give them to her!” 

“Should have asked me first.” Carver growled as the group began moving, following Howe away from the main road and back up to the trees. 

“Carver, I didn’t know you felt that way.” Fenris nearly laughed at loud at the disgusted noise Carver made. Merrill looked at him slyly with those green eyes that had observed entirely too much. 

“It’s good to see you both happy. And joking! Creators, I thought I’d never see it.” She smiled, racing to the side to pull up several large embrium flowers, returning with them and handing one to Fenris. 

 

The cave entrance took them right into the armory, which is where Chantal was sitting, waiting. She let out a shrill cry when they emerged, embracing Nathaniel quickly. “Oh Maker! I know they’d went after you but I was still terrified.” 

“For me?” Nathaniel asked, puzzled as he pulled away from his Commander. Chantal sighed, running her hands through her hair. 

“They came here to interrogate and most likely arrest you.” She explained, pale and exhausted looking. “They know about you and Anders somehow, I don’t know how. And they’re saying people have seen Anders here, but that’s ridiculous. He’d never come back to Amaranthine.” 

Howe froze and Fenris did as well, looking at the archer curiously. The man grabbed his bow tightly then let go slowly. “Anders and I were over a very long time ago.” He murmured between gritted teeth. 

“I know, Nathaniel. I won’t let them take you, I promise.” 

“Are they using you to draw out the abomination?” Fenris asked tentatively. “If they think he may care for you.” 

“He didn’t care for me.” Nathaniel spat. Chantal winced and nodded briskly. 

“Just...don’t leave the keep okay? Please? I’ll handle them.” She pleaded. 

“I won’t let you shield me, Commander. I won’t hide behind your skirts.” Howe growled. Chantal sighed, rubbing her forehead.

“Fine, but they’re not taking you. If they want to talk to you, they will do it here.” She looked up at the archer and Fenris could swear he saw lighting bolts crashing in the small woman’s eyes. 

“Chantal.” Zevran called from the door. “They are at the main gate demanding an audience. What do you wish me to do?” 

Chantal bit her lip in a maddingly familiar gesture. She looked at their small party, eyes settling on Merrill with a small smile. “Will you help me lie to some templars, Warden?” She asked gently. 

“Don’t put her in danger.” Carver demanded, placing a hand on Merrill’s shoulder. 

“I’m a Warden now.” Merrill straightened. “For the good of the order, right?” She asked, looking up at Carver. 

“For the good of our friends as well, I think.” Chantal mused, eying Zevran speculatively. 

“We’ll be using plan A, then?” Zevran asked. “Subterfuge and deceit?” 

“Course we will, love.” Chantal answered brightly. “Tell the other Wardens to bring the Templars to me here. It’ll keep them out of the way. Then I went the best fighters I have in the courtyard, lazing around and polishing weapons. Just in case I need them.” 

“And us?” Fenris asked, gripping his sword tightly. 

“You’re going up to go up to my study and Ali is going to marry you to my cousin. Varric and her have been packing up, you should be ready to go. Then, hopefully, everyone who isn’t a Warden is going to sneak out of here tonight. You’ll be leaving with Ali and a map of my safehouses. Varric and Isabela will get back on her ship and sail as soon as she assembles her crew.” 

“You really don’t let guests overstay their welcome, do you?” Carver asked bitingly. Chantal smiled sadly, shrugging her shoulders.

“I can’t protect them, they aren’t Wardens. It’s not my jurisdiction. I can only protect you, Merrill, and Nathaniel. I wish I could do more, but someday soon I’ll be leaving this place and I won’t even be able to do that.” She sighed, shaking her head. 

“I understand, thank you.” Fenris whispered, inclining his head.

“It may not be much of a wedding night, but I can at least give you a wedding.” She swore. 

 

Fenris would be married in his armor, the armor made for him by Danarius. It was the armor he’d worn when he slaughtered the fog warriors, the only thing he’d taken with him when he fled Tevinter. He had been wearing it the first moment he saw Hawke and had sat cleaning it with her after many of their misadventures. He’d put it back on when he fled Hawke’s bed the first time, then left it lay on his own floor when she returned and he was ready for her. 

Hawke wore his favorite scarlet cloak over leathers, breeches tucked into her tall boots. She left her dark hair tumbling lose over her shoulders, crowned with a wreath of embrium blooms Merrill had twisted together. They were all carrying their weapons, including the King marrying them.

“Right, right.” Alistair began. “Let’s get the formalities out of the way, first. Anyone know of any reason these two people shouldn’t be tying the knot?” 

“It’s a damn shame to sentence these two to monogamy, that’s why.” Isabela whispered. 

“Isabela!” Merrill shushed her loudly. Alistair sighed in resignation, rolling his eyes toward the ceiling. 

“Right, good. Guess we’re doing this then. We’re all gathered together in the Maker’s sight to join this woman and man together in the sight of the Maker and Andraste or the Creators, really who knows.” 

Hawke giggled and Fenris couldn’t help but smile at the sound. Alistair scowled at them, clearing his throat as they tried to straighten their faces. “Vows next. Fenris, will you take this woman to be your wedded wife? Will you love, honor, comfort, and keep her, in sickness and in health and forsaking all others for the rest of your lives?” 

“I will.” Fenris answered, his voice was so sure. He reached out his left hand, taking Hawke’s and squeezing it gently with his gauntlets. 

“Reyna Hawke, do you take this man to be your wedded husband? Will you love, honor, comfort, and keep him, in sickness and in health…” 

“Yes!” Reyna cut in, grinning as she leaned forward. “I will, forsaking all others and the rest of my life.” 

“Good. Excellent. Ah, shit. I don’t have a ribbon.” Alistair looked around desperately. 

“I do.” Fenris let go of Hawke’s hand, untying the red ribbon from his gauntlet and handing it to the King. Alistair smiled as the two joined hands again and Fenris watched as the King wrapped the ribbon over their joined hands, once, twice, then tied it gently. 

“This is a symbol of the lives you have chosen to lead together. Up until this moment, you have been separate in thought, word, and action. As your hands are bound together by this ribbon, so too, will your lives be bound as one. May you forever be one in the Maker’s sight, sharing in all things, in love and loyalty for all time to come.” Alistair stepped back, nodding to himself then looked up at Fenris and Hawke.

“You may kiss the bride, and I highly recommend doing so quickly so we can get out of this mess.” 

Hawke reached for him, but Fenris was quicker. His lips crashed into hers with a mad possessive urge, his unbound hand going to her hip and pulling her closer as their friend applauded. When he pulled back, Hawke was flushed and unsteady. “My wife.” He growled into her ear. 

Their marriage contract lay on the Warden Commander’s desk. Fenris had signed his name, Hawke signed hers. Carver signed as his sister’s witness and Varric signed as his. Nobody’s hands trembled. Finally, the king pressed his ring into sealing wax and left the Ferelden coat of arms as proof of their legally sanctioned union. “Well, here’s that. We better head out.” Varric squeezed Hawke’s elbow sadly. 

Zevran was waiting anxiously at the bottom of the tower. “Congratulations my friends. I wish you all the happiness we have had.” Zevran gave a small bow. “And thank you for graciously taking Alistair off my hands.” 

“Any time, Zevran. We live to please.” Hawke was beaming, her hand still resting on Fenris’s forearm. 

“The templars are with Chantal.” Zevran began. “I’m afraid it is as we feared, they are that the Siren’s Revenge is docked here as well. Chantal is claiming she is unsure of where you are, Isabela, but that you were doing a favor for a friend and bringing Warden Hawke and his lady friend to Amaranthine.” 

“Lady friend?” Merrill queried. “Oh, that’s me. Right.” She answered herself nervously. 

“We have admitted that Merrill, formerly of the Kirkwall Alienage, is indeed the lady friend in question. They immediately began clambering to take you into custody, my dear, but Chantal has informed them of your Joining. You are now her responsibility. They are not taking it well, but I don’t believe they are insane enough to try to pull you or Nathaniel out of here.” 

“We should go to her then, so they can ask us questions like they want to ask Nathaniel.” Merrill said. “Yes? And we lie about Hawke.”

“And me too, please.” Alistair asked hoarsely. 

“Us as well, Daisy. You haven’t seen anyone in months except Isabela. You and Carver here have been in Ferelden the whole time. You don’t know where Isabela went after she dropped anchor.” Varric coached. “Maker, just don’t let them get you out of this keep.” 

“We’ll distract them.” Carver answered. “About time I saved you, right Sister?” 

“You’re a good man, Carver. Except for being a bit of a tit.” Hawke answered with a wry smile, opening her arms wide. Carver embraced her quickly, Merrill lingering to whisper in Hawke’s ears before they both disappeared with Zevran. 

“We’ll go straight for the docks.” Isabela explained. “I can round up most of my crew and we’ll slip out by moonlight.” 

“Be good.” Hawke ordered, laughing. Isabela kissed Hawke full on the lips, grinning lavisciously and pulling away from Fenris’s grip before he could catch her. 

“Always, sweetness.” She smacked her lips and swaggered back. Varric and Hawke were both looking at the ground. 

“I won’t say goodbye.” Hawke began stubbornly. 

“I won’t either. Let’s just say… Later, Hawke.” Varric smiled. Hawke dropped to her knees, throwing her arms around Varric’s neck. 

“Later Varric. In Kirkwall, I promise.” She whispered, kissing his cheek before standing suddenly, rocking back against Fenris, nodding blindly through the tears in her eyes. Varric turned quickly, shoulders hunched as he disappeared behind Isabela. 

“Well, it’s not a real wedding unless there are tears anyway.” Alistair attempted to joke. Hawke groaned, shaking her head. “What, too soon?” 

“I’m sorry, you deserved better.” Fenris said as they followed Alistair through the Warden’s maze of outbuildings, past the main gate. 

“I’ll miss them, but I’d rather be by your side then anywhere in the world.” Hawke answered, eyes flicking to his. “Let’s be honest, anyway, that’s probably as normal as we could have expected our wedding to be.” 

Fenris wished he could protest, state that he didn’t deserve her as they fled another city on their wedding night. Instead, he pulled her cloaked figure closer and inhaled her scent, felt her sweet warmth under his hand. “I agree.” He answered instead. 


	12. The Years Before the Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter covers events spanning 9:38 Dragon (Hawke and Fenris flee Amaranthine) to 9:41 Dragon (The Conclave begins at Haven). POV alternates from Varric to Fenris and back.

 

Varric and Isabela said nothing when the ship pulled out of port because, really, what was there to say? Varric was on his way home, but not home, because Hawke wouldn’t be roaming the street with her wicked wit and cocky grin. Merrill wouldn’t be stealing flowers from gardens and Varric wouldn’t be paying off gardeners to keep her out of the dungeons. Anders wouldn’t be healing the poor in Darktown and venting about injustice. Isabela wouldn’t be leaning on the Hanged Man’s bar, downing whiskey like water. Fenris would never darken the doorstep of that dilapidated manor he called home ever again. Varric would never wake to them pounding at his door or picking his lock. Perhaps Bianca would never send another letter ever again. 

Void take Blondie. If he saw him again, Varric may throttle him.

Isabela’s ship docks just long enough to let Varric off. Their goodbye is brief, but the sadness buries in his heart nevertheless as he watches Isabela’s sails catch the wind and she sails out of 

Kirkwall’s harbor for perhaps the very last time. Hawke was the glue that held them together and if she never returns, the Siren’s Revenge will never sail past the Gallows again. Varric stops that thought, wrestles it back to the dark recesses of his mind. Hawke will come home someday, he has to remember that. 

He goes to the Alienage first and is unsurprised that it is the least damaged place in Kirkwall, but pleasantly pleased to see the outside of what used to be Merrill’s home freshly painted with plants in a window box and new shutters on the window. It is hard even for Varric to be sad with the sun shining and the cheerful pink blooms dancing in an ocean breeze. When he knocks at the door, Orana opens it and cries out in delight, dropping to her knees and hugging him tightly. Varric smiles at her greeting, but it drops when the first question out of his mouth is about Hawke. He pats her arm gently and shakes his head while he answers her question and Orana’s smile flattens, but she nods her head kindly and invites him in. The home is cleaner than Merrill ever left it, her ever present mirror gone into a trash dump somewhere. There is a chalkboard against one wall and Orana explains she has started a school for the children in the alienage, she’s even taken some humans from the Lowtown slums. She’s using the skills Hawke taught her to teach others, and he knows that would make Hawke proud. When he tells her so, she beams. She says Aveline comes to visit, sometimes Donnic as well. This reminds Varric of where he must go next and he graciously apologizes to Orana. She shoves a basket full of baked goods on him regardless. As he leaves, he decides if any of his contacts are still alive, he’ll have some watch out for her. It’s the least he could do for Hawke. 

The streets are scarred with evidence of fights that are still sometimes ongoing. People don’t mill outside as they used to, but hurry down the streets clutching baskets and packs closely to themselves. He sees guard patrols, but recognizes noone until he climbs to the Viscount’s Keep and sees Aveline hurrying down the steps. She almost walks past him in her hurry, but stops just in time to gawk at him. Varric smiles halfheartedly and Aveline laughs just a little, holding out her hand. Varric takes it as she whispers that it is good to see him, truly. She confides that it has been horrible, that the city is barely holding together, that she doesn’t know what will happen next but she believes it has to get better. There is no other option and she’ll make it happen. Varric says he’ll help as much as he can, and finally Aveline asks if it is only him that has returned. She both dreads and hopes for the answer and when he says yes, she can’t help just the tiniest flicker of disappointment. She knows Hawke can’t come back yet, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t wish just a bit the same way Varric does. 

 

-

 

Denerim looms up over them when they say goodbye to their King, or at least Fenris supposes that this is their King now. He is not a bad man, Fenris has decided as they trailed across the countryside. He confides to them that he only is King because he didn’t want his opponent to be queen, he felt she was untrustworthy, but he never wanted to take her life. She still lingers, refusing to acknowledge his rule, in some luxurious prison somewhere. He cares deeply for his people, that Fenris can see in the way he counts livestock in the fields and examines freshly planted rows of crops. When he see children that appear to be a bit too skinny, he pauses to ask if there is famine in the area while Hawke hands them some of their rations. 

Before the King leaves, he enters the city alone and returns, clutching a bundle in his arms. He hands the bundle to Fenris with a wink at Hawke. The bundle wriggles in his arms and when Fenris pulls back the rough cotton, a wet nose and big brown eyes look up at him. The King introduces the dog as a Mabari bred from the same line the Warden Commander’s mabari founded before he passed a few years prior. Hawke squeals in delight as the puppy presses his nose against Fenris’s neck. She carries it as the leave Denerim behind them, heading towards the first safehouse marked on their map. She talks about the Mabari she had when she came to Kirkwall, the one who passed peacefully in his sleep at the Hawke estate after the Qunari had passed. Tears gleam in her eyes still as she talks, but Fenris can’t help but think of how beautiful she is. They try out names between the two of them, but finally they agree on a name Fenris has chosen. Lucia means light, Fenris explains, and Hawke repeats the name over and over to the puppy as she scratches its ears. 

Their first night in the small log cabin with the Griffon scratched above the door is the first where Fenris spends a night alone with his wife. He keeps repeating the words in his head, nearly breathless with happiness at the way they sound. He is a husband and he has a wife. She is on the floor with a bit of dried meat, teaching the dog to sit and stay and lay down. Fenris peels off his armor and sits in the chair watching her, admiring her pale skin and blue eyes. They are together and they are safe with each other. Hawke, who has never been in shackles, doesn’t know what a gift she has given him but he will spend the rest of their lives showing her. The sun sets and he takes her to their bed and allows himself to hope and dream of things slaves should not have, things that are beyond his broken, jagged heart. But he is not a slave anymore and she wears his ring on her finger and the shackles they’ve bound themselves with are made by their hands and hearts. They do not hurt, they heal. 

They spend four days in that cabin, long enough to hear news from Denerim. Fenris passes his markings off as Dalish from the Free Marches and the peasants don’t seem to know better. The dog has taken to following him where he goes and this speaks more for him with the Fereldens than anything Fenris could actually do or say. In return, Fenris sneaks extra bits of meat to Lucia whenever Hawke isn’t looking and takes great pleasure in doing so. He has never had anything to spoil like this that he remembers and he loves the feel of the wet nose bumping against his hand. When he returns with firewood to the cabin, Hawke is back from the closest village. She sits, hands clasped tightly in her lap as she tells him that all the talk is of Amaranthine and the templars that attempted to drag three Grey Wardens out of Vigil’s Keep. Their Hero of Ferelden, they always call her that here in the countryside, stopped them and sent the Templars packing with bruises asses and bruised egos. The Fereldens are incensed and convinced the Templars have tried to clasp their Hero in irons and drag her back to the Circle, in  _ Orlais. _ They are proud that King Alistair has already sent a missive to the Divine demanding an explanation and reiterating the Hero’s service to Ferelden. 

Hawke’s eyes look shadowed, but Fenris smooths them with gentle words as he kneels before her, unclasping her hands from each other. Her brother and Merrill are safe, Isabela and Varric are safe, Chantal and Zevran and Alistair are safe, they are safe. The tension relaxes from her shoulders and she smiles slowly, like the sun coming out after a storm. Fenris basks in the glory of it, of knowing he has caused it. They pack up and spend one last night in that cabin before moving on. 

 

-

 

It has been three months and the summer heat is unbearable in Kirkwall. Varric sleeps at the Viscount’s Keep with Aveline, although it isn’t home. During the day, he goes out  with her to try to negotiate peace between all the warring factions. The Carta is trying to take advantage of the chaos, the Coterie is fighting with the Carta, there are still rebellious mages hiding in Darktown, Knight Commander Cullen is barely holding the Templars together, and Slavers are preying on the vulnerable with only the guards standing against them. Varric thinks he is a poor replacement for Hawke, these nug lickers would listen to her. So far, all they have is a stalemate. The only good news is that the Tale of the Champion had passed his editor’s scrutiny. In fact, she’d said that although it probably wouldn’t sell as well as Hard in Hightown, it was probably his best work. Varric couldn’t help but be flattered by this, and Maker do they need to get their side of the story out. The week he receives his copy of the book, he hears seven different versions of what actually happened that last week in Kirkwall. 

When he isn’t in meetings with Aveline or trying to reestablish his network of contacts, he spends time at Hawke’s estate. It was trashed completely in the chaos after the circle fell, rioters had broken in and looted much of the valuable things Leandra Hawke had bought to furnish her family home. The fanciest gowns Hawke only wore once or twice are gone, although Varric doubts she’ll even notice. Luckily, her library remained intact. Mobs aren’t usually interested in the acquisition of knowledge and must not have had time to burn it. Varric takes some of the most suitable books to Orana for her little school and brings others up to the Keep. He hires laborers to begin cleaning up and when it’s suitable, he moves himself into the guest room. It isn’t the Hanged Man, but it is better than the Viscount’s Keep. 

When two figures show up on his doorstep, his heart freezes in hope for just a moment before he realizes the silhouettes are all wrong, the man is too broad and tall and the woman is too willowy and slim. They pull their hoods down and all Varric sees at first is the Griffon on their armor and the blue and white cloth. Then he laughs, out of breath with relief as Merrill and Carver grace Hawke’s estate once more. They both look tired, but Varric can’t help but notice that they lean towards each other like trees whose roots have grown together. Carver protests they can’t stay long, they need to get back to Ferelden on a ship the next morning, but they have a letter. The parchment they hand him is full of Hawke’s looping, rushed script and he reads her words with a lightened heart. He plies Junior and Daisy with ale and whiskey and they fall asleep after talking almost all night in Varric’s bed. Varric stays in his armchair by the fire and writes his reply, looking up every so often to take in the two figures twined together in his bed and feel a sharp pang of jealousy and a warmth of happiness spread through him. He can’t begrudge them their happiness, even if he can’t have it for himself. Daisy’s head rests on Carver’s chest, her fingers twined into his tunic. Carver’s arms curve around her, holding her tightly to him even as they sleep. When dawn breaks, they both stir and Varric feeds them breakfast before they rush back to the docks. They leave Varric with the list of safe houses, drawn up in an unfamiliar slanting hand that reminds him of chantry scholars. He memorizes it over the course of two days, then burns it. But now he knows where to send his letters, and he sends the dozen he’s already written and couldn’t send. The couriers will hand them off three times and even he won’t know who eventually delivers them, and that’s the safest way to do it. 

 

-

 

Fenris wipes the blood from his arm, examining the bleeding gash with distaste. When Hawke had asked if he was injured, he had said no because he honestly hadn’t realized that some of the blood he was covered in was his own. She would accuse him of being needlessly stubborn, but perhaps he was. She is attempting to use the lockpicks Isabela gifted her to open the bars, behind which sit ten humans and elves in shock. Fenris kicks over another dead Tevinter slaver and digs through his pockets, finally coming up with a ring of keys. He brings them to Hawke and dangles them in front of her face and she laughs, taking them from him with a kiss on his bloody cheek. Five slavers dead, ten people rescued, one kiss. Fenris files them all away in his head as he moves from the bars to examine the rest of the hideout, searching for instructions or maps as Hawke heals and soothes the prisoners that are no longer prisoners. It is what she does best, after all. Since they have been married, his nightmares have ceased and his fears fallen away. 

On their way back to the shack they’re currently staying in, just outside the forest, Hawke notices his bleeding and makes them stop why she heals it. She scolds him while her gentle fingers glow warmly and set the lyrium in his skin buzzing pleasantly. The gash heals beautifully, there won’t even be a scar to remember this by. Five slavers dead, ten people rescued, no scars, and the second kiss takes place as she finishes and brushes her lips softly over his. In a hollow of a tree not far from their shack, she finds another letter addressed to her from Carver and she opens it as they walk, reading avidly. This leaves Fenris to retrieve the rabbit that has been caught in their trap. It’s large and juicy and he can skin it for Hawke for dinner tonight. They’ll have plenty, even if their other traps are empty. He’s thinking only of this and doesn’t realize for a moment that Hawke has frozen, her hand on her lips and her face draining of blood and color. The first time Fenris asks what is wrong, she doesn’t answer. The second time, she holds the letter out to him mutely. He struggles with Carver’s scrawl, but is eventually able to decipher just enough. 

The Hero of Ferelden and Zevran Arainai have vanished without a trace. The rumor is that she has left on her Calling, but Carver protests that she is too young. Some say that she has been taken by the Templars finally, in revenge for thwarting them multiple times, but why take Zevran? Fenris knows the answer to that question in his very bones, that if Chantal has been taken against her will that Zevran is dead already. Finally, Carver writes that their King has done nothing. This eases the knot in his stomach and Fenris shakes his head to clear the doubt. Chantal’s words the last time he saw her ring in his head and he repeats them for Hawke, that she had said she would leave soon. Perhaps it is Grey Warden business or perhaps more personal. He argues in favor of this until the color returns back to Hawke’s face, but she doesn’t smile the rest of the night, even when Lucia brings them another, smaller rabbit for their dinner with a pride reserved for taking down an ogre. 

 

-

 

In the winter, Varric receives word a mage has tried to assassinate the Divine. Varric immediately wanders if it was Blondie, but assumes that if it was that would be mentioned. The Divine had survived thanks to a templar bodyguard named Evangeline. Varric notes the name for later, it would be excellent in a romance novel. It’s too Orlesian for his typical audience, however. Letters about Hawke, though, come in every day from every corner of Thedas. Some ask him if the book is really true. Others beg for what happened next. Some of them are even threats against his life and Hawke’s, which is hilarious. Despite Varric writing the, mostly true, story Hawke is still as controversial as she was. 

The last letter he received had come from Fenris, not Hawke. She’d written a greeting cheerfully in the corner, but Varric didn’t believe it. Fenris’s writing was always spare and perfectly thought out, much the same way Broody spoke, but Varric was an expert at reading between the lines. Fenris wasn’t saying a lot about Hawke, but what he did say recalled Varric sitting in silence with her for three months after they pulled the mangled body of Leandra Hawke out of Lowtown. It had taken all of them to dig Hawke out of that hole, how could Fenris manage it on his own when he too was so prone to these episodes of loathing and guilt? Perhaps he should go himself, the minimal impact he was making on the state of Kirkwall wasn’t worth more than Hawke. 

 

-

 

Fenris will have to tell her and he doesn’t want to. She withdraws further and further into herself each time he brings her news. Lucia pads alongside him up the road, her head lowered in introspection as well. Hawke said Mabari picked one warrior and would fight with them until death took them both, and that it was clear who Lucia preferred. Fenris thought it was more akin to wolf knowing wolf, the two bound together by similar natures and a fine appreciation of the woman waiting for both of them. 

The mabari nudges Hawke’s hand as he enter the cozy farmstead outside Gwaren. Hawke absently pets her, scratching her nose with the edge of the quill she holds and leaving a smudge of ink on her face. Fenris feels a sudden drop in the temperature of the room and despair settle over him. Maker, if he lost her… but he won’t. He steels himself as she turns to him with one of her rarer and rarer smiles. He cups her cheek in his hand and kisses her forehead, closing his eyes against the dread rising in his stomach. He decides he will do it quickly, in the hope that sudden pain will be better than a drawn out wound. He tells her the White Spire has fallen, that the Enchanters have fled, the Lord Seeker is dead and the new Lord Seeker has rejected the reign of the Chantry and declared war on the mages. The mages are held up in a stronghold in Orlais and have voted on independence. Horror grows on Hawke’s face and she finally buries her head in her hands and sobs that it is her fault. Lucia whines from her spot before the fire, her head tilting in confusion and Fenris feels much the same way. It is not Hawke’s fault, he knows that, but he can’t make her see it. He wishes helplessly for Aveline, Isabela, and Varric, even Merrill. They could make her see what he cannot. He lifts her from her chair instead, letter and quill forgotten and takes her to the bed, cradling her in his lap and letting his fingers tangle in her thick dark hair as he whispers to her in the darkening room.

His heart is too bruised, bloody, and broken to heal hers. It is the heart of a slave, born in shackles, and can do nothing to ease her burdens.  

 

-

 

The Seeker is outside Hawke’s estate and she expects him to leave with her. Varric can’t believe he’s gotten himself into this mess, but he can’t quite figure out how to extradite himself from it. She’d phrased it as an invitation to meet with the Divine, but her glower had left no room to decline it. Aveline stares at him across his desk as he writes last minute instructions for his contacts, rattles off things for Aveline. She offers to boost him out a window in the back, but he knows he won’t make it far. Aveline knows too, but she is finding it hard to allow this Seeker to cart him off. It is better that it is him instead of Hawke, he knows this. If they made it to Hawke, Fenris would die before letting them take her, and death would be the kinder option for her than life as a tranquil or life without Fenris. There are few people who know where Hawke could be and they are all untouchable, Grey Wardens or Heroes or Kings. Let them take him, then. He will not give her to them, they have done enough to her. 

He promises Aveline he will be back soon, hoists his pack onto his shoulder the same way he used to when Hawke was leading them down the Wounded Coast or up Sundermont. Maker, he’s gotten old when he wasn’t paying attention. The cocky twenty-four year old who impressed a scrape grace nineteen year old and her tit of a brother in the Hightown Market years ago was gone. It had been ten years and he could never get those people back, no matter how hard he tried. The Seeker is waiting for him outside and walks beside him to the docks. The Knight Commander is there as well, but when Varric greets him he shakes his head at the title and tells him not anymore with a sad smile. They board the ship together and Varric watches Kirkwall recede into the distance once more. 

 

-

 

The final letter from Varric breaks her and Fenris can do nothing. It is a quick note, nothing more. Scrawled in a moment of freedom before he was taken, given to the courier by Aveline most likely. It is only a three sentences. 

 

Waffles,

 

They’re taking me to Haven. Don’t follow. You know I’ll talk my way out of it.

-V

 

Hawke screams when she sees it and falls into the grass beside the stump with the hollowed out rock beside it where the message was hidden. Lucia growls, spinning to look for danger but there is none that they can fight here. They have Varric, but it isn’t Hawke and for that he is glad even if it makes him a wretched friend. She immediately makes plans to go, to turn herself in, and Fenris has to pin her wrists to her sides to stop her and she screams at him but it doesn’t matter because he is not allowing that to happen. He silences her with a fierce kiss. There have been seventy-five prisoners freed, forty-eight slavers killed, and an innumerable number of kisses, but this one is desperate. 

“No.” He orders as he tastes the tears falling down her cheeks. “He will want us to wait and see what he does. We’ll move closer and watch.” 


	13. Another Explosion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric arrives at the Conclave in time for the whole world to go to the Void. Cadash is more than anyone quite bargained for.

“Who puts a village in the Frostback Mountains?” Varric asked tersely. There was snow everywhere. Snow up to his damn ass. Snow in his boots. Snow on Bianca. It was absolutely unbearable and he seemed to be the only one in their little merry band who was struggling up the damn path. Cullen smiled tightly and offered a hand which Varric brushed aside. Damned if he let himself be led up this path like a child. He glared holes into Cassandra’s back. 

Cullen stifled a chuckle and matched his pace to the dwarf’s. Varric couldn’t decide if he was pleased by the company or irritated by Cullen’s fond gaze lingering on the snow covered trees and shrubs. They trudged on in silence broken only by Varric’s swearing every time his foot found a particularly deep pile of snow and he sunk hip deep. Cassandra’s noises of disgust kept getting more and more frequent. 

“We’re almost at the village.” She finally said, indicating what may have been town walls up ahead. “The Divine will be at the Temple, we will go straight there.” 

“We will most certainly not.” Varric sputtered indignantly. “You keep trekking up this damned mountain Seeker, but I need a pint of ale and a fire.” 

“Dwarf, you do not seem to understand the gravity of the situation.” Cassandra growled, fingering her sword. Cullen coughed, drawing the Seeker’s gaze away from Varric. 

“Seeker Pentaghast, I understand the need for haste. It is drawing close to supper, however. Perhaps it would be wise to allow the Divine a moment to eat before introducing ourselves?” Cassandra sighed, her breath condensing and hanging in the air. A light snowfall was beginning to fall and it reminded Varric poignantly of Llomeryn and the flakes dotting his parchment as his friends laughed. 

“Perhaps you are right.” The Seeker grumbled, continuing to trudge ahead. Cullen shrugged his shoulders and flashed another of his hesitant smiles. Varric sighed in gratitude, clapping the other man’s elbow in appreciation as they made their way to the town. Varric scanned the crowd around them, mages and templars mostly but others as well. There was even a Qunari mercenary lazing outside the gate. A trio of dwarves were huddled together by a fire in front of the chantry, grumbling softly. Varric recognized their armor and swore under his breath. Cullen looked down and Varric inclined his head toward the dwarves. 

“Recognize them? They’re Carta.” Cullen shook his head and Varric grinned. “C’mon Curly, don’t tell me how dwarves look the same to you.” 

“Those dwarves certainly seem of the suspicious sort.” Cullen narrowed his eyes as he took in the leathers and steel.

Varric looked around but was unable to see anyone beyond those three. They were pure muscle, picked out for protection of someone more vulnerable but most likely much smarter. That person was nowhere to be seen. Varric’s mind began to supply reasons the Carta would be keeping tabs on the Conclave. Lyrium smuggling in jeopardy, perhaps? Were they supplying weapons to one or both sides? 

These were the last normal thoughts Varric had before an explosion louder than anything he had ever heard, louder than the day Anders blew up the chantry, although it brought that memory rushing back first as he stumbled backwards. Bianca was in his arms right away, the heft of the weapon reassuring as the world crumbled around him. He was pointing it up at the sky, where a roiling mass of green seethed in the gray sky. Debris had become to fall, ash mixed in with the snow. People began to scream and the doors to the Chantry burst open, a redheaded figure striding out and turning to look up above them. 

“Leliana!” Cassandra snapped. “The Divine!” 

“Gather troops, anyone able and willing with a sword.” Cullen’s sword was out and he was fastening the bindings of his shield to his arm. The Carta dwarves had begun to move and they ran past Cullen, up the mountain path shouting something. Varric couldn’t hear them, but supposed his question of where their leader had been was answered. Poor bastards, he hoped it wasn’t anyone the Carta would miss that they were supposed to be guarding because there was no way anyone had survived that. Varric had been forgotten in the chaos, but he followed Cullen regardless. 

“You’ll need all the help you can get Curly.” He responded to the questioning gaze. Cullen nodded, his mouth tightening as troops began to gather. 

 

Halfway up the mountain path, Varric found the corpses of the Carta dwarves surrounded by shades and a crouching terror demon. His thoughts strayed to fights in Kirkwall and he silently thanked the Maker for granting him such valuable and wholly unwelcome experience before Bianca fired her first six shots. “They’re coming from there! It’s a rift in the world!” A mage shrieked as she ran past them back to the village. Varric watched as the rift spewed another green tendril and a rage demon appeared.

“Push forward!” Cassandra called. “For the Divine!” The troops divided around her as she rushed forward, throwing her weight behind her shield as the rage demon reared back and prepared to spew fire. The next bolt Varric fired lodged in the creature’s eye. It fell forward into itself as Cassandra’s blade pierced it. As he reloaded the crossbow, Varric began to hum under his breath. Cassandra’s shield pushed the creature back and Varric’s next shot caused it to explode into fragments of green mist. Cassandra gave him a look far more courteous than those he had seen from her so far, almost appreciative. Varric couldn’t help the small bow and the little flourish that goes with it and smirked when she made that disgusted sound once more. 

The soldiers pushed up the mountain, but Varric never made it to the top with them. Soldiers raced back down to the rear guard where Cassandra is with a woman on a makeshift stretcher. 

Her eyes are closed and Varric isn’t sure at first if she is breathing. She is battered and bruised and there are suspicious cuts in the fabric of her coat. Her eyes twitched rapidly and her whole body shook, but even Varric can’t help but note she’s not bad to look at. She’s got a black Carta tattoo of a fancy geometric design under her right eye that disappears behind red hair just a shade darker than Nightingale’s. Her face seemed soft and innocent in unconsciousness and her pink lips are parted just slightly. She looked well fed and healthy besides the color suspiciously absent from her face. 

“Who is this?” Cassandra asked the soldiers. They stared at her mutely, then at each other as if trying to decide what so say. Cassandra doesn’t wait and makes a noise that is almost a growl. It scares one of the soldiers into action. 

“She fell out of the rift all the demons are coming through in the temple. It closed up behind her, but there was a woman with her. She was in the rift, Ser, I saw it. I think Andraste pushed her through the veil.” He explained fervently. Varric snorteds. Cassandra’s lips twisted and she looked to Varric, indicating the woman. 

“Do you know her, dwarf?” She asked. Varric took the chance to approach, and sees the hand opposite from him is glowing and pulsing with the same crazy green energy in the sky. This shit is too weird for one of his stories. 

“I don’t ask you if you know every human, why should I know every dwarf?” Varric grumbled. “She’s definitely Carta, probably the last of that group of fine upstanding citizens we passed on the way here. Dwarves don’t stumbled out of glowing magical portals though, Seeker.” 

“But she is a criminal.” Cassandra said flatly, nodding to the soldiers. “Take her to the village and put her in shackles.”

“You think she did this?” Varric asked, amazed. “Seeker, that’s beyond anything I’ve seen anyone do.”

“Someone did it. She is the only suspect.” Cassandra confirmed and her tones leaves no room for argument. 

 

He followed the Seeker and Sister Nightingale back to Haven. They said he isn’t a prisoner, but Varric isn’t quite as sure. What would happen if he tried to walk out the front gate? Eventually, Leliana approached him with a small pendant on an expensive gold chain. She asked him if he recognizes the crest on the pendant. Varric examined it closely, running his thumb over the interlocking hexagons and smiles.  

“It’s House Cadash’s crest.” He answered. “They’re a big Carta family, and that’s only including blood and not the dwarves they bring in to help run their operation. Best damn lyrium smugglers in Thedas, I used to use them from time to time in Kirkwall when I needed supplies for…” He trailed off, not willing to say Hawke’s name or even Merrill or Ander’s. 

“But you don’t recognize her?” Lelilana snapped in irritation. Ah, she’s slipping, Varric thought at the same moment he recognizes the thought slip across Leliana’s face. She hid it immediately, but Varric takes pity. 

“No. See this chain? It’s solid gold, Nightingale. Good quality stuff. The crest itself is gold, too. She’s Cadash blood, that’s the only way she’d have a crest, but the quality of it says she’s not some cousin in the low ranks. She’s too important to them  to be running a smuggling ring in Kirkwall, no matter how lucrative it is. She was probably sent to spy on the conclave, the Lyrium black market is booming with this war and they’ll have a vested interest in what happens next. She’s no ordinary thug.” Varric shrugged as he pulled the chain through his calloused fingers, feeling the heavy weight of it. Leliana crossed her arms over her chest. 

“A spy?” She questioned flatly. 

“But not a murderer.” Varric defended, although he’s not quite sure why. That hole in the sky is bigger than him, void take it, bigger than that dwarf struggling not to die and chained up in a cabin with Cassandra glaring at her. “Listen, I don’t know what happened, but I’m telling you no ordinary person did that.” 

“Perhaps.” Leliana answered vaguely. “The Divine is most certainly dead as is everyone at the Conclave. Peace is lost and we are staring into the void.” 

“I wish I could argue with you.” Varric replied, staring into the breach above. “Is she awake?”

“An Elven apostate who counts himself an expert in the fade has presented himself to us. He is examining the mark on her hand now. His initial diagnosis is that it is killing her.” Leliana responded. “I must go. The situation in the valley is dire.” 

Varric sighed and swore under his breath. Leliana was so distracted she didn’t ask for the chain and pendant back, so Varric pocketed it and turned toward the cabin to meet this Elven apostate. 

 

On the third day, the elf emerged from the cabin looking exhausted and disappointed. Varric was waiting, considering the hole in the sky. “No good, chuckles?” He asked. 

“I have told Seeker Pentaghast that if she wakes, the mark on her hand could be the best chance we have to shut the rifts. However, she doesn’t wake. The magic she experienced may have been too much, she may never wake.” Solas replied solemnly. “So the Seeker has threatened me with death.” 

“Well, don’t take that personally. I’ve been threatened a few times as well.” Varric shook his head, eying the gate. “We need to leave.” 

“We?” Solas asked, raising an eyebrow to his bald head. 

“Why not, Chuckles? Better chance of getting out of here together and I’m used to working with elves and apostates. I don’t think they’ll let us out the front gate, but I’m thinking we go up the valley path like we’re heading to help fight, then climb down the mountain.” 

“You are assuming, dwarf, that there is a way to get down the mountain up there.” Solas observed dryly. 

“It’s a mountain, there’s a way down everywhere. We just need to find a safe one.” Varric reasoned. “I’ve got friends. I’m surprised they’re not already here dragging me off this mountain. I won’t let them risk coming here if I can help it, so I’ve got to get to them. We’re not helping here, Chuckles.” 

“You are right.” Solas nodded, gripping his staff. “After you, dwarf.” 

Varric felt his stomach unclench in relief. It was still a long shot, but he’d faced worse odds. They passed the sentries up the mountain top with little comment, but they were demons almost right outside the gates. Varric was suddenly very glad for his companion as ice froze a rage demon to the ground long enough for Bianca’s bolt to shatter it to a million pieces. Varric grinned. “I love the sound they make when they shatter.” He confessed. 

“One of your friends is a mage?” Solas asked as they trudged up the path. 

“Chuckles, you need to read a book. Do you seriously not know the story?” 

“Should I?” Solas asked. Varric shook his head in disbelief. 

“Honestly, it’s a bit of a relief that one person hasn’t. Would you believe me if I told you it all started with a pickpocket?” He asked. 

“Serah!” A messenger ran towards Haven and stopped just a moment in front of them. “There’s a rift at the head of the path. Demons are coming from it as well, Maker help us!” Varric took in the messenger, a boy really. Varric doubted he even had to shave yet. There’s no Maker kid, he thought sadly. This is how the world ends. “We’ve lost contact with the Valley.” 

“Ser Elf!” Another messenger yelled from behind them. Varric tensed, swearing. Had they been reported missing already? He gripped Bianca tighter and turned with Solas to stare at the other messenger. 

“The prisoner has woken! Sister Leliana wants to test your theory. How would it be done?” The messenger saluted and waited. Solas sagged against his staff and the relief on his face stirred hope in Varric. Something in Elvish passed Solas’s lips, an intonation of thanks perhaps. Solas then turned to Varric and the dwarf read a plea in those eyes.

“If it can be fixed, Chuckles, I’m all in.” Varric answered. “Bianca and I love shooting demons, don’t we Bianca?” 

“Tell the Seeker and Sister Leliana to bring her to the rift at the head of this path. We will try the mark on a smaller rift before attempting the main one. Master Tethras and I will meet them there.” 

“Master Tethras now, Chuckles?” Varric asked as the messengers ran back to Haven. 

“I suggest not getting used to it.” Solas advised and Varric laughed.

“I’m trying not to get used to anything except my own inevitable mortality, thank you. Do you think this will work?”    
“Perhaps. It is certainly the best chance.”

 

Varric thought there was no end. He cut down a shade only for three more to take its place. This is it, he  thought. He’d never get to have final angry words with Bianca, never see Kirkwall again, never hear Merrill giggle or drink with Hawke or collect that damn four sovereigns Broody owed him. He would die up here, drowning in the snow and demons. He rolled under a clawed talon that he swore took some of his chest hair before he heard Cassandra’s yell from behind them. Finally, he thought. At least if he died, the Seeker could bite it right here with him and it served her right for dragging him into this void forsaken hole. 

“Dwarf, move!” Another voice shouted, regal with command and calmer than it had any right to be. Varric had to appreciate the warning though, even in Kirkwall he’d almost ended up with Merrill’s vines strangling him instead of a bandit too many times. Varic launched to his side, missing a blast of ice from a wraith across the battlefield. An arrow soared with a whistle over his head, followed by two others quickly. The wraith melted into green energy and Varric was able to send a bolt into a terror demon menacing Solas. This gave Cassandra the opening to gracefully lop it’s head off. Solas was already turning to the other voice. 

She clambered down the rocks gracefully, the gravel slipping beneath her feet and depositing her beside Cassandra. Her red hair was loose, just brushing her shoulders. She was still shades too pale, but that could have been the sickly green light cast by her hand and the rift. It was sparking and crackling with energy. She was just a bit shorter than him, but taller than Bianca, certainly. She clutched her bow with her right hand and Solas grabbed her left, dragging her closer to the rift. 

“Quickly!” He shouted. “Before more come through!” Varric watched as she tried to flinch away from Solas, but he’d insistently dragged her hand toward the sky. The light between her hand and rift connected and she made a small sound of shock, or was it pain? Varric couldn’t be sure. The rift imploded in on itself and left unscarred air in front of them. Varric fought the urge to applaud and cheer. 

“It worked!” Cassandra sounded breathless. “Will it work on the breach itself?” 

“Perhaps. It seems our friend here may hold the key to our salvation.” Solas smiled kindly at her but she was frowning and rubbing at her hand. So, it was pain then. 

“I didn’t do that.” She protested. “This thing did that.” She indicated helplessly to her arm. 

“It matters not. We are taking you to the breach.” Cassandra interrupted. 

“I thought we’d be ass deep in demons forever. Glad to see I was wrong.” Varric tugged his gloves back into place and met the woman’s gaze as she swung it to him. It was...piercing. Her eyes were slate gray, the color of the sky before a storm. She was older than he’d initially thought, she looked younger when she was sleeping. Was she about thirty? She narrowed those unique eyes as she took in his apparel, then her lips twitched in a small smile at the deep neckline of his shirt. She raised an eyebrow.

“Forgive me if I’m wrong, but the two of you certainly don’t seem like Chantry.” Solas chuckled and answered her. 

“I’m Solas, an elven apostate who had been observing the conclave. I thought to come and offer my assistance when the breach occurred.” 

“Brave or foolish. There’s a thin line between those.” The woman observed wryly. Solas laughed aloud. 

“You’re correct.” He responded. “This is…”

“Varric Tethras, rogue, storyteller, occasionally…” Varric paused to wink at Cassandra. “Unwelcome tagalong. Technically, I’m a prisoner like you are.” 

“You are free to go.” Cassandra grimaced. “Your services are no longer necessary.” 

“I’m seeing this through, Seeker. If you intend on making your way to the Breach, you’ll need all the help you can get. Your people are dying in the Valley.” Cassandra grunted disagreeably and turned her back on Varric. 

“And you are?” Solas inquired.

“Terrifically unlucky.” The woman replied immediately. Varric had to quickly stifle his laugh before Cassandra could punch him. 

“We have been calling her Cadash. So far, she refuses to provide her name.” Cassandra sniffed dismissively. 

“When you ask nicely, I’d be glad to.” Cadash argued. Cassandra grabbed the dwarf’s arm and began dragging her away. There was a short scuffle as Cadash pulled her arm free with a glare and two women stared at each other. Then the breach in the sky pulsed and grew larger. Cadash was almost knocked to her knees, clutching at her hand and letting out a quiet hiss of pain. Slower, gentler, Cassandra approached again and helped the woman straighten out. 

“That mark is killing you.” Solas explained. “But if we stabilize the breach, it may stop.” 

“May.” Cadash repeated darkly, shaking out her hand and gripping her bow firmly. “Well, what are we waiting for.” 

Cassandra led the way with Solas while Varric fell into step besides Cadash. He reached into his pocket and clutched the gold chain, withdrawing it and offering it to her. “Here, they had me look at this and forgot to take it back. I think it is yours.” 

She smiled, a real smile. One corner quirked up further than the other, leaving it just a bit crooked and she had a chipped tooth that rendered it endearing. She reached out and took it, running her finger over the pendant with a sigh. “I thought they’d found it, but I didn’t expect to get it back. It’s real gold, you fool. You could have sold it.” 

“You can owe me the coin later. I accept pints as well. Or you can tell me what in the Maker’s holy ass cheeks happened up there.” 

The woman scowled at Cassandra’s back as she slipped the chain over her red hair, tucking it in her coat. “I wish I knew. I don’t remember. I certainly had no reason to murder the bloody Divine.” 

“Not knowing will get you everytime. Should’ve made up a story.” Varric advised. 

“That’s what you would have done, dwarf.” Cassandra shouted back. 

“It doesn’t seem to have done you much good either.” Cadash pointed out reasonably. “I know who you are. Hard in Hightown was pure trash.” 

“Everyone’s a critic!” Varric readied Bianca as they climbed to the top of a hill and spotted wraiths below. Cassandra ran forward and Cadash shot two arrows. One veered wildly off and she swore. Varric laughed and she glared. 

“It’s this damned thing on my hand.” She readied another arrow and it flew true. “Anyway, the Dasher’s Men and Darktown’s Deal were much better written. The characters stood for something.” 

“How many books have you written, Varric?” Solas inquired. Varric stared at the woman with the glowing hand, smirking. 

“She hasn’t just read some of my books. You’re a fan.” He accused. 

“The Tale of The Champion is your best so far.” She continued, unphased as she swerved off to dodge a blast of green energy. “It’s a masterpiece.” 

“Have you read them all?” Varric asked as they trudged after Cassandra, the wraiths cleared from their past. 

“Maker, no. I don’t think you could pay me to read Swords and Shields. I’m personally disappointed in you for writing such a failure.” She teased. 

 

Some bastard in a ridiculous chantry hat tried to arrest her when they got to the forward camp. Varric had to admire her response, which was to cooly cross her arms over her chest and stare him down with those storm-tossed eyes. The author in Varric kept applying adjectives to her. She was definitely regal, used to being in charge. That had to be partially to blame for her clashes with Cassandra. She was determined, perhaps to survive more than anything else, but he had to admire that. Then Varric found himself climbing up a ladder after her to sneak through a mountain pass and he found himself struggling not to apply adjectives to her posterior. Adjectives like delicious, firm, sweet…

Andraste’s tits, they were most likely going to die. How much harm could it possibly cause if Varric let his imagination run away a bit? Maybe this was actually the Maker’s last blessing to him, the wiggling bottom above his face. 

“Eyes front, Tethras.” Cadash said slyly and Varric turned the same shade as his shirt. She simply laughed and Maker, that laugh was full of secret promises and sultry invitations. She knew what she was doing, he decided, and she was doing it on purpose. That didn’t stop him from following her up the next ladder despite Cassandra trying to elbow in. Last day alive, he repeated to himself, he may as well enjoy it. 

“Why did you choose this path?” Solas asked as they entered the old mine. She shrugged nonchalantly.

“I thought the Seeker would want to get her people out. I wouldn’t let my people up here.” She whispered, although definitely loudly enough for Cassandra to hear. Varric could almost hear Cassandra’s teeth grinding together. A thought shadowed his mind and he winced. 

“Did you come with three dwarves? Muscle types?” He asked. Her brow furrowed and her jaw tightened as she nodded. “Sorry. They rushed up the mountain right after. I think they were coming to find you.” 

“Maker’s asshole.” She murmured. “Probably were. Damnit.” 

“Seems unusual behavior for a criminal organization to risk so much to save one of their own.” Solas commented. 

“You worked for a lot of criminal organizations?” She asked. Solas admitted that he did not and Cadash growled out her next words. “Maybe don’t judge, then.” 

They found the missing scouts and saved them, but Cassandra surprisingly directed their thanks to the dwarf beside him. She looked just as shocked as he felt. “Huh,” She mused “Maybe you aren’t a piece of nug shit, Seeker.” 

“Charming.” Cassandra answered. “I will reserve changing my opinion on you.” 

But Cassandra did change her opinion. Varric watched Cassandra observe the odd disembodied voices in the charred ruins of the temple. She was looking at Cadash with something approaching grudging respect. “The Most Holy called out to you. For help.” 

“I already told you, I don’t know.” Cadash sounded frustrated and was beginning to look a bit disturbed. Varric felt the same way when he saw the red lyrium. He pointed it out and warned everyone to stay away from it. 

“Isn’t that what drove your Kirkwall’s Knight Commander nuts?” Cadash asked as she skirted a wide distance around it. 

“Unfortunately. What is it doing here?” He lamented. Cadash shrugged hopelessly.

“I don’t know. All this shit is weird. We were bringing regular lyrium here, I swear. All normal everyday smuggling and spying.” 

“This is the rift that started it all. It’s sealed improperly now, if we open it and reseal it completely, we can possibly stop the breach.” Solas explained. “But something may come through.” 

“Great. Wonderful.” Cadash shook her head. Cassandra was positioning archers and Solas was examining the rift. Varric examined her from the corner of his eye as she clenched and unclenched her hand, gritting her teeth. “Maria.” She finally said. “My name is Maria Cadash. If I die here, do you think you can get word…” 

“Wait, what?” Varric asked, taking a step back. “You’re Maria Cadash? Shave my back and call me a nug. You’re Carta royalty.” 

“That’s exaggerating.” She smirked. 

“Your grandmother is running the Cadash family. She named you as her heir. You’re a damned heiress. Shit.” Varric laughed. 

“A Carta heiress is not the same thing as royalty. Listen, just get word to her, okay? If you make it out and I don’t. Nanna will need a new heir. If you have a moment, tell her not to make it cousin Dwyka. I hate that nug humper. Tell her those were my last words.” 

“You call Zarra Cadash your Nanna. I can’t decide if that is adorable or terrifying.” Varric rubbed his forehead with his hand. 

“Shut it, Tethras. It’s not like I can expect Seeker Hates-My-Guts to do it.” 

“Fine.” He answered as Cassandra beckoned them over. “But you’ll make it and I won’t have to, Princess.” 

 

The biggest pride demon Varric had ever seen came through the rift, followed by shades and wraiths. On top the rubble, Varric shot bolts and ducked lighting and fire. He would catch sight of red hair twisting into the shadows, reappearing to pull an inquisition soldier from harm and loosing arrows furiously, distracting the demon from Solas, at Cassandra’s back picking off wraiths that were closing in. Finally, the demon fell and Solas shouted. “Now!” 

She was all alone at the edge of the battlefield, almost right under the rift. She dropped the bow and threw back her hair with a toss of her head, raising her head to the rift. The energy screamed and sparked and the rift slammed shut with a blast that knocked her to the ground. Solas rushed to the side, yelling Cadash over and over again. Varric was beside him in a moment, swinging Bianca onto his back. She was pale and her mark was sparking, but Solas claimed she was breathing as he pushed magic into her. Oh Hawke, Varric thought, wait until you hear about this one. 


	14. Renegades

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke and Fenris struggle with each other and the road to Haven. Cadash wakes up three days after her attempt to close the breach.

_ Kirkwall was burning. Ash floated down like snow, turning Fenris’s hair dusty gray. Flames licked up the sign of the Hanged Man. Inhuman screams of suffering assaulted his ears and blood was smeared all over the cobblestones. Fenris took one small step forwards, then teetered backwards. Something was missing, something was wrong. He tried to probe the empty corners of his memories desperately seeking the thing that was on the tip of his tongue. Why was he here? What dragged him to the Hanged Man?  _

_ “Serah Elf! Help!” A man in full templar regalia yelled. “An apostate is coming! She’s dangerous!”  _

_ Dangerous. Yes, mages were dangerous. Was that what he was forgetting? Fenris turned toward the templar, who was rushing a small figure in leathers with her hood covering her face. This was a foe, he decided.  _

_ No, his mind whispered traitorously. Stop this, this is not right.  _

_ Instincts kicked in as the mage summoned a spear of ice and tossed it through the first templar, whipping dangerously (no, beautifully, his mind whispered) to the templar hiding in the shadows and twirling her staff in the air, slamming it on the ground and summoning a flash of flame and heat from underneath the man, who roasted in his own armor.  _

_ She didn’t attack him, and that was her mistake. His sword slipped through her flimsy leather armor like it was water and she screamed. Something about that scream made him stop, her whole small body impaled on his sword. His hand was already at her chest, ready to plunge through and grab her heart, crush it, punish this mage for what she was. What she had done, what had been done to Fenris. He stopped when her hand came to his, gently, laying over top of his, fingers splayed. There was a ring on her finger, a wolf holding a ruby in its jaws. His fingers shook as he reached up, pushing the hood from her face. He revealed beautiful blue eyes that looked more shocked than in pain, pale skin he had traced kisses over and over again, her dark hair loose the way he loved.  _

_ He loved.  _

_ “Reyna.” He choked on her name, the memories flooding back as he pulled his sword back from her abdomen. She swayed and collapsed, her hand on the wound. Fenris dropped the sword she had given him. Blood was gurgling up from between her fingers and her eyes were glassy.  _

_ “Fenris.” She whispered. “Why?”  _

_ “I didn’t...I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He begged as he reached for her. She flinched away from his touch the same way he had flinched from so many others. Her precious blood was joining the stains on the cobblestones. Her eyes rolled up in her head and she slumped lifeless. Fenris moved closer, gathering her up in his arms. Scalding tears tracked down his face and his arms shook. When he looked up for help, the abomination was there, staring them down with his glowing blue eyes and cracks of fade energy rippling off of him. _

_ “Save her.” Fenris pleaded.  _

_ “I’m trying.” The abomination answered solemnly. _

 

He awoke in the dark, staring up at a million stars. He drank in their blinding brilliance like water after walking through the desert. His fingers twitched to his side and felt the empty bed roll on the grass. A soft woof from his left made him turn, just in time to see Lucia and Reyna emerge from the thick clump of trees. He could just make out their identical worried expressions. 

“The fire needed more wood. I told Lucia to stay with you, but she came and got me. Are you alright?” She asked, dumping an armload of fallen timber onto the ground. He couldn’t even look at her in his shame, staring at the ground in front of him. Lucia whimpered. “Fenris?” She asked.

It was too much like his dream, her questioning tone. He felt bile in his throat like he was going to be sick. She reached for his arm and he pulled away from her quickly. 

“Don’t touch me.” He rasped out quickly. Hawke wasn’t quick enough to hide the pain on her face and it only made him feel worse. 

“If it’s a nightmare Fenris, it is only that thing.” She waved her hand above them in the vague direction of the hole in the sky they were traveling towards. “It’s amplifying...everything. I can feel it in my magic. The closer we get, the more I feel it.” She explained patiently, like with a child. “It’s nothing, Fenris.” 

“It is not  _ nothing _ .” He growled at her, standing suddenly. She didn’t flinch, but she didn’t know what he was capable of. She trusted. She’d trust him right up until he crushed her heart. His thoughts raced and roiled, panicking. She sighed, her shoulders slumping. He felt his heart spasm and fought the urge to grab her with his murderous hands and pull her close. He wanted to tell her, to explain that he was a monster. 

He couldn’t bear the way she’d look at him. 

He turned, silently, and stalked away through the woods. Lucia made an attempt to follow, but a quick gesture stilled her and she sat beside Hawke. The last thing he saw were their eyes, dark in the night, following him silently. 

 

He returned shortly before dawn to find them both still awake, although Hawke was tucked in her bed roll. Her dark hair shone in the dying firelight and she was still as if she’d been turned to stone. His anger had receded, leaving a dark aching hole. Lucia’s tail hit the ground once, twice in greeting. Hawke didn’t move. Fenris stared at the tight line of her back, wanting to say something, anything. Hawke did so first. 

“Every time you do that, I think you won’t come back. Maybe it’d be best.” She had been crying, Fenris could hear it underneath the hard brittleness of her voice. He had to open his mouth twice before the words came out. 

“Is that what you wish? For me to leave?” He asked. What would he do if she said yes? Throw herself at his feet and beg her, he supposed. 

“No, but you should leave. Before I get you killed too.” She said harshly. 

“Varric isn’t dead.” Fenris responded, gently lowering himself beside her, picking her shining dark hair off the ground and spreading it over his thighs. “We’ll find him, I swear to you.” He promised. 

“When you sound so convinced, I can almost believe you.” She couldn’t quite keep the tears from her voice this time. Fenris allowed his fingers to run from her scalp down to the end of the silky stands, then back up. 

“Go to sleep, amata. I’ll wake you when it is time to move.” Hawke nodded, the movement of her head barely discernible, before allowing the silence to overtake them. Fenris looked up at the stars above them, fading into the bright light of a new day. Hawke’s shoulders and back eventually relaxed and even the dog began to lightly snore. Fenris stopped stroking Hawke’s hair and rose silently, tending to the fire. 

 

When Hawke awoke, he had some tea made and their small breakfast of dried jerky and berries laid out. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and immediately looked at the hole in the sky. Her eyes narrowed and she tapped her fingers on the cold ground. Fenris brought her tea in a tin cup before she could ask for it and settled across from her. “I don’t think it’s getting bigger anymore.” She pointed out. “The last two days, I think it’s been the same size.” 

“It bothers you?” Fenris asked quietly. Hawke sighed. 

“It makes me...uneasy.” She admitted. “I feel like my magic is coming so much quicker, with so little effort. Instead of opening the door, it’s crashing through every time I call it. I’m still in control.” She added hastily. 

“I had no doubt.” Fenris responded sincerely. 

“I also feel… more powerful.” She added, biting her lip. “Like any fireball I cast would be twice as big, my frost would be twice as cold. It isn’t pleasant, though. I was taught that much power comes with a cost. I wonder what someone paid to do that.” She jerked her head toward the sky. “I find it hard to believe any mortal could do that.” 

“Because you have no experience with Magisters.” Fenris said sourly. “When they investigate, they will find Tevinter behind it. I have no doubt.” 

“We’ll take the main roads today. Perhaps someone will have news from Haven.” Hawke decided, sipping on her tea. She didn’t have to say ‘news of Varric’, because Fenris knew that’s what she was hoping for.  

“Eat first.” Fenris ordered, pushing her hair back from her cheek and tucking it behind her ear with a kiss on her forehead. “You’re no good to him dead of exhaustion.” She rolled her eyes, taking the jerky from him and biting into a piece. Fenris fed some to Lucia as Hawke chewed. 

 

Hawke used her staff as a walking stick and Fenris prayed that it was enough to disguise the weapon from other travelers. Everyone looked at them warily and Fenris couldn’t blame them. The closer they got to Haven, the worse the countryside looked. Outside of Redcliffe had been the worst, templars and mages involved in active fighting. That’s when they’d made the decision to vanish into the woods, skirting the whole area. It added to their journey and Hawke had argued against it, but Fenris was adamant that it was too dangerous. What had finally won him the argument was him asking what would happen if rumors of the Champion of Kirkwall being in the area spread. He’d asked how much worse the fighting would get, who would be caught in the middle. It had caused Hawke to reel back like he’d struck her, but she’d acquiesced to him.

They were following the Imperial Highway again, trying their best to look like refugees themselves. The first hour passed uneventfully, there were few about and all were content to keep their face on the ground as they passed. 

“They’re afraid you’re going to stab them with that sword.” Hawke hissed as another caravan driver refused to make eye contact with them. Fenris scoffed. 

“Your staff scares them more than my sword.” 

“It’s a walking stick!” Hawke protested. Fenris stopped, shaking his head in irritation. 

“Perhaps that was enough of a cover before, but these people have seen the mages and templars fighting. They know what a staff is.” 

“I can’t go unarmed, Fenris.” Hawke seethed. 

“I agree, but perhaps we should go back to the woods.” Fenris beseeched. Hawke jutted her jaw out stubbornly. 

“Not until I get news.” She answered, crossing her arms over her bosom. Fenris sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“Vehendis. Fine.” He indicated for her to go ahead and she took the lead confidently. Fenris shared an exasperated look with Lucia. They had the road to themselves for a mile, perhaps longer. Finally, they came across a stopped caravan. The mules pulling it looked half dead. Fenris slowed and Hawke fell back with him, eyes wary. Fenris could hear sobbing. 

“Stop yer blathering.” A man’s gruff voice said. “Ain’t helpin’ nuthin.” 

Fenris emerged slowly from the side of the caravan, Hawke behind him. A woman, covered in so much mud and dirt it was hard to make out her features, was wailing as she held the body of a small child. He was flushed red with fever and there was a nasty red burn covering most of the child’s naked body. The man turned, suspicious. “We ain’t got nuthin worth takin’ if yer bandits.” 

“We are not bandits.” Fenris answered, continuing to angle his body in front of Hawke. “Your son is injured. What happened?” 

“He’s dying!” The woman wailed, clutching her son even tighter. “Yer Dalish? You must have healing herbs!” The woman rubbed her eyes and looked imploring at Fenris, mistaking the Lyrium as this countryside was so prone to do. Hawke pushed past Fenris’s arm. 

“I can help.” She said. “I’m a healer.” 

Fenris almost wasn’t fast enough. The woman screamed when she caught sight of Hawke’s staff and the man swung a short sword back as if he’d attack. Fenris caught the blow easily with his own sword and turned the force of momentum back onto the man, causing him to stumble. “Stop.” Fenris ordered as the man gathered himself for a second attack. “This is not a fight you’ll win.” 

Fenris could see the man considering those words as he watched Hawke apprehensively. She laid down her staff, hands out at her side. Lucia was growling at her heels but was quieted by a snap of Hawke’s fingers.

“Witch!” The woman yelled. “Git away from us! Git out of here!” 

“I’m a mage, you’re right, but I can help. I want to help.” Hawke pleaded. “There’s still time to save him.” 

“Was yer lot  that did this!” The man spat, gripping his sword tightly. “Mages that shoulda been drowned as babes! Attacking like rabid dogs, don’t care who they kill!” 

Hawke winced. “Please, it wasn’t me or him. We’re just trying to get to my friend. Let me help you.” 

“Void take you! I hope the Templars make you suffer b’fore they cut yer throat!” The woman yelled, clinging desperately to the dying child. Hawke looked like she would argue more, but Fenris fell back, grabbing her arm.

“We’re going.” Fenris said, tugging Hawke back behind him as they backed away. 

“Fenris, he’s going to die if nobody does anything.” Hawke sounded absolutely horrified. “We have to do something.” 

“You cannot.” Fenris pushed her back behind the caravan again, turning to grip her waist as the couple vanished from view. He stared into her blue eyes, tears threatening to spill over onto her pale cheeks. “You cannot save everyone. You cannot save those who would rather not be. I won’t have you in danger for their sakes.” 

He guided her back into the woods and they disappeared from the main road. They made it deep into the trees  before Hawke sat on a fallen log and placed her head in her hands and began to weep. 

  
  


Varric had resigned himself to the thought he’d have to send the letter he wrote right after the rift was closed. The breach didn’t get bigger, but it certainly wasn’t going anywhere. It made his head hurt to look at it. Varric wondered if this was what Bartrand had experienced upon seeing the sky. Varric fingered the folded parchment, folded and sealed with his father’s signet ring. It was terribly official, more official than anything Varric usually did. But if Maria Cadash had sacrificed herself to stop that damn thing from consuming the world, formality was appropriate. He kept her name to himself, the same way he’d kept all his own secrets from Cassandra. 

But she woke up, three days after the breach was closed. The author in Varric appreciated the symmetry as he watched her exit the cabin she’d been recovering in. She’d been unconscious for three days prior to sealing the breach, three days after. In those six days, she’d went from Carta Heiress to most wanted criminal and most hated woman in Thedas, to the woman Andraste had sent to save them all. It was enough to make Varric laugh, and yet…

She emerged into daylight for the first time to the road between the cabin and chantry packed with well wishers. Every villager she’d saved had come to see their Herald of Andraste. She hid the shock on her face so quickly even Varric doubted that it had ever been there. He did notice her bracing herself, taking a deep breath before emerging from the cabin door with a genuine smile that made her eyes sparkle. She met the eyes of just about everyone looking at her as she walked slowly. She was still too pale, but it was hardly noticeable under her smile. She caught sight of Varric and her smile transformed into wicked grin that felt like it was just for him.

He elbowed two humans and an elf out of his way, crossing his arms over his chest. “You made it out in one piece, again.”  

“Survival is a talent.” She admitted. “What is...umm, going on?” She indicated her little parade route. Varric felt his own grin broaden. He was going to enjoy watching this. 

“They didn’t tell you? You’re the Herald of Andraste, Princess. The chosen of the Maker’s chosen or something like that.” Maria’s smile froze, staying in place for the crowd but there was panic in her gray eyes. 

“What?” She asked, dumbfounded. “You  _ can’t _ be serious.” 

“Maybe you should have told the Seeker your name before they decided to give you some other title.” Varric was barely resisting cackling. Barely. “Follow your parade route, Herald. The Seeker will be all too glad to discuss it with you.” 

“Lovely.” Maria turned and continued her walk as Varric shook his head behind her. Herald of Andraste, a dwarf? Andraste’s flaming tits, humans would believe anything. And yet… he stole another glance at her red hair as she walked away, head high and pace measured. His thoughts flashed back to her, alone, under that rift as the pride demon toppled and her mark flared and green energy spun. Maybe the Maker had a sense of humor after all. 

 

He saw her hours later. She’d managed to twist her hair back into a bun at the nape of her neck, which made her just a bit harder to catch in the crowd of Haven’s main thoroughfare. She’d also changed out of the unflattering pajamas someone had stuffed her in back into the coat and trousers she’d been wearing, a scarf wrapped tightly around her neck and her hands shoved into her pockets. Her face was still up, despite the cold, eyes everywhere and a smile for everyone. 

“How’d it go, Princess?” Varric asked as she approached, warming his hands over his own crackling fire. 

“How long am I going to have to put up with being called that?” She asked. Her voice was like warm brown sugar. 

“Would you prefer Herald? I can make adjustments.” He offered cheekily. She sighed and rolled her shoulders dramatically. 

“I guess I’ll accept my lot.” 

“So, now that Cassandra’s out of earshot…” Varric began. “Are you holding up alright?” Maria’s head tilted to the side thoughtfully. “I mean you go from being the most wanted criminal in Thedas to joining the armies of the faithful. Most people would have spread that out over more than a week.” 

“I’ve always been an overachiever.” She teased. “Honestly, I’m mostly hungry.” 

“Hungry?” Varric asked, confused. 

“Can’t remember the last thing I ate. I was told the grumpy apothecary dumped some broth down my throat while I was out. I’m sure he loved that.” She remarked, stretching. He shirt slipped up her figure just enough to show a line of tanned skin. “I figured you’d know where to get food.” 

“Nobody’s fed you?” Varric asked incredulously. 

“Maybe Heralds aren’t supposed to eat?” She mused. “Nobody has given me a rule book yet.” 

“Maker’s ass. Sit down.” He gestured to a low bench at the fire. “I’ll get you something.”

“I can get it!” She protested, laughing. “I need to learn where everything is. And I’m supposed to go to the Blacksmith’s and I should thank the cranky alchemist.” 

“How you’re still on your feet is the true miracle.” Varric commented. “Stay here.”

Without turning back to see if she’d truly stay, he turned toward the tavern. He brusquely informed Flissa he needed a meal for the Herald. She immediately exclaimed she hadn’t anything ready, so Varric made do with a tray of cold  meats, bread, and little pots of jam and mustard. Flissa followed him back to the campfire with a pitcher of ale and two glasses. He would have felt stupid if Maria had not still been sitting there, staring up at the whirling green mass in the sky. 

“Your worship.” Flissa greeted cheerfully. “I’m sorry I didn’t have anything better for you.” 

“No, no, this is great.” Maria rose to take the pitcher, gray eyes searching out Flissa’s. “It is nice to meet you…?”

“Flissa! Your worship.” Flissa smiled brightly. “I own that tavern. You just come in any time and I’ll make sure we have something for you, Herald.” Flissa gave an awkward curtsey and backed away. Maria looked bemused. 

“Do you always have that effect on people?” Varric asked. 

“Lately, it certainly seems like it. Thank you for this.” She indicated the tray with a smile. She picked up a piece of bread and looked back up at the sky. “What do you think?” She asked. 

“I think we’d need a miracle to close that thing.” Varric admitted honestly. Maria smirked, looking at him from under her eyelashes.

“You do know they’ve asked me to stay and make a second go of it, right? With some mages or templars or somebody tall in skirts, anyway.” 

“Maybe you should head back to the Free Marches.” Varric advised. “I’ve seen some big problems, but that...that won’t end well.” 

“All this magic shite gives me a headache.” Maria complained, assembling a sandwich with some of the materials. He watched as she took a big bite and made a tiny noise of appreciation. It was like a tiny breathy moan. Varric could stand to hear more of those sounds in less innocent applications. His mind conjured her on the ladder again, her rear wiggling delightfully above him. 

He didn’t know how far into that thought he would have gotten if the Seeker hadn’t have shown up, glowering at the two of them. “Cassandra!” Maria said brightly. “Want a sandwich?” 

“Solas is ready, as am I.” Cassandra answered instead. “You are ruining your supper.” 

“Andraste’s asscheeks, Seeker. She just sat down.” Varric protested, but Maria was shaking her head, shoving the last bite of food in her mouth and standing. 

“No, no. I’m ready. It’s not far. Wanna come?” She asked Varric. Varric found himself nodding, agreeing without being sure why. 

“The Inquisition is in need of lyrium. Some templars and mages stayed after the breach to help. They need supplies, but we have few of our own.” Cassandra briefed Varric. “The Herald says she had brought lyrium to Haven for...commercial purposes.” 

“I can already tell I’ll love the allusions to my family and line of work. I look forward to hearing more of them.” Maria was holding the tray in her hand, gesturing to a lad who couldn’t have been more than sixteen in his scout’s armor. Boy probably couldn’t even shave yet. “Come here.” She ordered when the lad paused, looking around as if confused by catching the Herald’s attention. “I’ve got to go, but this food shouldn’t go to waste. You look like you need feeding.” 

“Th..thank you my lady Herald.” The boy said, reaching out to take the tray. 

“Make sure you share what you don’t eat.” She instructed, swinging her bow onto her back. Varric winked at the boy as his eyes drifted to the inquisitors posterior as she bent over and gathered her quiver and the arrows that were leaning precariously out of it. The lad blushed crimson and Cassandra made a disgusted noise, waving him away dismissively. 

“Herald. You look well.” Solas greeted as he came up behind them. Varric tightened Bianca’s harness as the group began to trudge out. 

“We hid the lyrium before heading into town. Buyer was supposed to meet us later that evening. Probably dead now, poor sod.” She shook her head as they veered from the road into the woods. She paused as they entered the tree cover near the lake, examining several trees critically before lighting on one with a bit of bark missing in a shape similar to a hexagon. She stepped deeper into the forest. 

“Who was your buyer?” Cassandra asked, almost casually. Maria snorted in laughter. 

“You don’t actually expect me to answer, do you?” She asked. “Besides, you’re not much better. You’re dealing with the lyrium smugglers now.” 

“For the greater good.” Cassandra protested. 

“How many have said that, Cassandra?” Solas asked. Maria couldn’t quite keep from smiling and shot a look to her side that caught Varric’s sly glance. Solas and Cassandra continued to bicker as Maria dodged tree branches and sank into the snow. Finally, she stopped at a pile of fallen logs and leaves. She moved them gently, uncovering crates.

“Careful.” Maria advised. “They’re in special crates, but sometimes raw lyrium still just...explodes. It isn’t pretty.” 

“We’ll take one crate with us and send templars back for the rest. They know how to handle it.” Cassandra paused, looking down at Cadash thoughtfully. “If that is what you deem best, it is your lyrium after all.” 

“It’s your inquisition’s lyrium now.” Maria shrugged. “Although if you send payment to Zarra Cadash, she’d be more than willing to supply the inquisition. I need to write to her as well. I can extend the offer.” 

“We will pay for the goods we take, we’re not savages.” Cassandra agreed. “And this...Zarra is your grandmother?” She asked. 

“Nanna.” Maria corrected, walking up to a short stubby tree close to the stash. 

“Finally told them, Princess?” Varric asked, following as she squinted into the tree. 

“Course I did. I need them to take letters back home, after all. Give me a boost, muscles?” She asked, indicating the tree. 

“I believe the Seeker would be able to do that easier.” Varric chuckled, but offered his cupped hands for her to step in. 

“I did this with dwarves, remember?” She asked. Varric waited for her, then lifted her up. Maria grabbed onto one of the low tree branches, swinging her shapely legs into the trunk and standing in the crook of the tree. She reached up on her tiptoes to the branch above her, knocking snow and leaves on the trio below. 

“What in the Maker’s name are you doing?” Cassandra asked, just before a large pack fell from the tree with a bow and another quiver of arrows. 

“It’s my stuff!” Maria said gleefully, leaping gracefully down, rolling and coming to a stop just by her pack. “My real armor, my real bow, my ledger, my letters and…” Maria dug through her back, pulling out a large book and presenting  it to Varric. He recognized the cover, his name scrawled across the bottom in bold block letters.

“The Tale of the Champion.” Solas read. “The book of Varric’s?” 

“Of course.” Cassandra grumbled. Varric noted this copy was heavily read, pages dull with use, dog eared and the cover scuffed. He beamed. 

“Well, now you have to sign it.” She tucked it back into her pack, hoisting the whole thing up over her shoulder. “Back to Haven, yes? I have errands.” 


	15. Perfectionist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maria Cadash works as hard as Cullen and holds herself to impossibly high standards. Fenris and Hawke attempt a rescue.

The Inquisition learned one thing about Maria Cadash very quickly. She was nowhere and everywhere all at once. Varric would catch her out of the corner of his eye going into the Tavern, but then he’d see her on top of a roof two minutes later, scribbling a quick letter and tying it to a raven’s leg. If you tried to track her down, they’d say she was just with Commander Cullen, but someone else swore she was looking for some herbs for Adan by the lake just a moment ago. When Cassandra searched there, somebody else would say she was discussing armor with the blacksmith. Varric would look there, only to be told that Solas and her had walked off toward the chantry. 

She was impossible, Cassandra would fume. How did one dwarf move so quickly? Varric eventually gave up. It was much easier to wait for her to find him and one hundred percent less exhausting. She was like quicksilver or chain lightning. Oh, that was a good description, Varric thought. He needed to write that down. Later, after he found her. Cassandra had showed up to his campfire, sputtering and tossing reports to him. “Leliana says she must read them but Maker only knows where she is! Find her!” She’d ordered before stalking back to her dummy to knock it around a bit more. 

He finally did find her at a row of Archery targets on the opposite side of Haven’s town gates, away from all the soldiers. She had her bow in her hand and had lined up the targets relatively far away. Varric thought even Choir Boy would have approved of the shots she was making, but the Herald of Andraste looked frustrated. She shook out her left hand as she stomped towards the targets, pulling arrows out of them. 

“Cassandra is looking for you.” Varric said loudly from behind her. “Or, actually, Cassandra has given up on looking for you and sent me instead. Nightingale says you need to read these.” 

“Maker’s ass.” She gestured to a pile by her pack. “Can you put them with the other ones? No, not those other ones.” She stopped him as he went to lay them on one pile, gesturing with the arrow she held in her first to another pile. 

“What is all this?” He asked, bemused.

“Reports from my Carta contacts. Some leads on what some rivals are doing. A couple letters from family, including two from my sister and I really do need to answer her.” Maria headed back to where Varric was, aiming her bow. “Then we have all the Inquisition paperwork, which includes recruitment reports from Cullen, Cassandra is trying to teach me Chantry history, and whatever Leliana just sent which I’m sure are probably more interesting.” The arrow flew from her bow and hit shut left of center. Maria swore. “I need to be able to shoot as well as I did before I ended up with this damn glowing hand. Especially if we’re heading into the Hinterlands tomorrow.” 

“I think you’ve made a lot of progress. The good news is that demons aren’t exactly small targets, Princess. A finger width one way or the other isn’t going to cause a massive failure.” Varric smoothed the sheets of paper, trying desperately not to read them. Not for his eyes, he repeated over and over again. 

“I used to be able to make these shots perfectly before.” She argued, pushing back lose strands of hair. 

“You’re running a Carta cell, figure heading a religious organization, and attempting to be the perfect archer while trying to figure out how to close a giant hole in the sky.” Varric replied dryly. “Are you and Curly in a race to see who can work themselves to death first?” 

“It wouldn’t be a fair race, his legs are atrociously long.” Maria countered, stringing the next arrow. The feathers just brushed her cheek. “You could help me multitask and read some of those to me.” 

“The Carta reports?” Varric tried not to sound eager. Maria lowered the arrow just enough to slyly grin at him.

“Can I have the cipher for the Merchant’s guild? The one from this month?” She asked sweetly. Varric laughed and shook his head. “No then.” She huffed. “But start with Leliana’s stuff, I’ll save Cullen and Cassandra’s for when I’m trying to go to sleep.” 

“Ah, this is on Mother Giselle, the cleric we’re supposed to help. So it turn out she’s best known for being Revered Mother of the Chantry in Jader. Do you know where Jader is? If you do I can skip this paragraph.” 

“It’s as close to Ferelden you can get without leaving Orlais, right? I heard they got hit harder than Kirkwall by refugees from Ferelden during the blight.” Her arrow fired and landed just off center again. She swore. Varric shook his head in exasperation and skimmed down. 

“Ah, turns out when Val Royeaux didn’t act quickly enough to send aid to those refugees, Mother Giselle led the clerics in hunger strike and distributed their food stores to the poor.” Varric snickered. “Bet that didn’t win her many friends.” 

“What happened next? I’m assuming the Divine didn’t let her clerics starve to death.” Maria asked, smiling as well. 

“No, they didn’t. When Val Royeaux sent aid though, they instructed Mother Giselle to distribute it to the Clerics, then to Orlesians, anything left was to go to Fereldens and then any scraps they left was to go to the elves.” 

“Lovely. How Orlesian.” Maria rolled her gray eyes, narrowing them at the target. “And human, too. I bet whoever put that hole in the sky was human.” 

“I’d agree, Princess. Mother Giselle thought it was nug shit too, it seems. Distributed the food to the most needy and probably saved thousands of lives. She’s infinitely popular in that region of Ferelden and Orlais and is often sent to poor, troubled areas. However, the other clerics and the nobility kind of hate her. I don’t know how good of an ally she is politically.” 

“At least we’d know our back is safe with her.”  She grinned and shrugged. “Maybe not our food though.” 

“Your Nanna doesn’t let you handle politics, does she?” Varric teased, stuffing the report on the end of the pile.

“She tried. It ended up with a skirmish, two shaved goats, and a small kitchen fire. Don’t ask.” She added immediately.

Varric was about to demand that story, it sounded better than anything he’d heard since Isabela departed. Besides, her gray eyes were sparkling in delight and she was smiling wholeheartedly. Her arrow hit the center of the target she was aiming at and she tilted back on her heels, smirking. She brushed her hands against the leather bustier clinging to her hips and let the bow drop to her side as she approached the targets. But something was moving towards them out of the woods and Varric spotted it at the same time she did. He cocked Bianca and she raised her bow. He couldn’t get a good look at it, but then… 

“A dog!” Maria let her relief sag through her shoulders as she dropped her bow. “Here boy!” She called. 

The dog was still running towards them, it certainly didn’t need called. Varric scowled and moved closer to Maria, looking over his shoulder. Around this corner, the soldiers couldn’t see them. Would Cassandra and Cullen hear if they yelled? “Princess, just because it’s a dog doesn’t mean it’s friendly. That’s a damn Mabari.” 

The dog had slowed to a walk, nose in the air as it approached them. It’s tail wagged slightly as it waited. “How do you know it’s a mabari? I’ve never seen one.” Maria asked curiously, holding her hand out. Maker, the dog was as big as they were and it was shoving it’s whole snout into Maria’s palm. She raised an eyebrow at Varric as the dog pushed it’s head into her shoulder, angling for her hand to scratch behind its ears. Maria obliged. “Don’t worry Tethras, I’ll protect you from the big scary dog.” 

“Hawke had one when she came from Ferelden. I taught it to play Diamondback.” He explained, eying the beast cautiously. Maria laughed out loud, shaking her head.

“Bullshit!” 

“They’re very smart.” Varric was beginning to relax and even reached a hand for the dog’s ear as well. “He was a terrible card player though. His tail wagged whenever he had a good hand.” 

Maria was laughing so hard her shoulders shook with mirth. The dog turned it’s nose to Varric and it’s jaw bit down on Varric’s coat arm, tugging gently. 

“It wants to play with you!” She exclaimed as Varric swore and tried to pull his coat free. 

“Not funny, mutt. This is from Nevarra and expensive.” Varric growled. 

“Oh look, it’s wearing a ribbon.” Maria said, pulling the red ends of it from the dog’s fur. “Must be a girl, huh?” 

Varric’s stomach did a somersault. Oh, he knew that red ribbon. He knew that ribbon the way he knew the way the Hanged Man smelled and how many gold coins were on Isabela’s necklace. His mouth felt very dry as he touched an end of it, then looked back down at the dog. When he looked at Maria, she was staring at him. “Want me to draw you a picture?” He asked, immediately, at a loss for anything else. Her smile became sultry instantly. 

“Is that an offer, Tethras?” She practically purred, leaning over the dog’s head between their chests. Damn that voice, damn it to the void. She sounded like someone had just dragged her out of their bedroom and that she’d be quite happy enough to fall back into bed. His mind raced, grabbing at words. “Ah, tonight I have to oil Bianca’s springs. You know how it is.”

“I never said tonight.” She winked, tipping her head towards her paperwork. “I’ve got homework. Honestly, I need to get a start on it. See you tomorrow?” She asked, taking a step back and bending over to gather her things. It was unfair, her displaying that perfect rear in those tight leggings. Especially after she was talking to him using that tone with that voice. 

“Some other time, then.” He answered. Flirting, just flirting. Flirting with the blasted Herald of Andraste. She carelessly waved at him as she took off, disappearing around the corner. Varric waited, counting steps. She could come back, he reasoned. But she wouldn’t. She knew, she’d seen. 

She didn’t know what she knew, did she? She knew he’d recognized something, the ribbon or the dog. She wouldn’t put together the ribbon with the book, would she? He was a blasted idiot for writing about this damned ribbon around Fenris’s wrist. The perfect romantic gesture, he’d thought at the time. The champion’s favor worn by her beloved. He was a fucking idiot. If she knew, would she say anything? 

No, she wouldn’t. Varric believed that. Secrets came as naturally to her as they came to him, to Leliana. He looked into the dog’s big brown eyes, sighing. “Well, lead the way.” 

The dog let go of the jacket and stepped back, turning towards the woods. Varric followed and the dog seemed sure enough that Varric would. They slipped through the trees and scrambled up roots. It was only a moment or two before the dog stopped proudly in front of a slim figure in a hooded cloak with a soft bark. A tanned hand with graceful white lines tracing over his skin reached out and touched the dog’s head affectionately. 

“Broody, what part of ‘don’t come to Haven’ did the two of you not get?” Varric asked, trying to hide his pleasure. “And what in the void is this thing?” 

“A mabari, a noble and proud beast. We call her Lucia. She’s from the royal kennels of Ferelden.” Fenris answered, pausing for just a moment before continuing. “Hawke was...devastated when we received word you had been taken. She has not been herself. The last few months have been difficult.” 

Shit, Varric thought. “Where is she?” Varric asked, all business. Fenris inclined his head further into the woods and the dog leaped into action, taking off in front of them. Varric fell into an easy gait beside Fenris. “Risky, sending the dog to get my attention while I was with someone.” 

“Calculated risk. She didn't look like Chantry. They usually don’t take dwarves. Did she suspect?” Fenris asked. 

“No.” Varric lied. Maria Cadash certainly didn’t need a homicidal glowing elf showing up to threaten her. Varric would handle it if he needed to. They entered a clearing and Varric’s eyes were drawn immediately to the woman staring up at the damned hole in the sky, her hood down, hair loose and flowing over her small shoulders. Lucia was sitting at her heels. He couldn’t help but grin. “Well, Maker be damned.” 

“Varric!” She almost shouted, grinning and spinning on her heel. Despite the beaming and wicked grin, she looked exhausted. There were dark circles under her eyes and her face was shadowed. She looked pale and skinny, the same way she’d looked in the Deep Roads that first time when they were all certain they were going to die. 

“Waffles!” Varric exclaimed back, opening his arms wide. Hawke was on her knees, arms thrown around his neck and face buried in his coat. The mabari danced around them, tail wagging excitedly. Varric hummed a bit and stroked Hawke’s hair back away from her face in a way that made him feel oddly paternal.

“Maker, I’ve missed you.” Hawke mumbled into his coat, pulling away only reluctantly. “Did anyone see you?” She asked Fenris, twisting her fingers into the lapels of Varric’s coat. 

“Only another dwarf, and not me, I sent Lucia.” Fenris answered concisely. Hawke spared a smile for him, but it didn’t quite meet her eyes. 

“Varric, I’m so sorry. We can get you out and back to Kirkwall. We can go now.” Hawke stumbled over the words in her rush to get them out. Varric shook his head, covering Hawke’s hands with his own. 

“This wasn’t your fault, Hawke.” Varric said sternly. “And besides, I’m not even here against my own will anymore. I’ve joined the Inquisition, apparently.” He shrugged apologetically. Hawke laughed softly. 

“You’re mixing with crazy chantry folk? Maker, they must have hit you on your head when they dragged you out of Kirkwall.” She joked weakly. 

“I’ll give you the short version, Hawke. We made it here just in time for the Temple of Sacred Ashes to explode and put that...thing in the sky. They call it the Breach. I call it weird. I was supposed to be interrogated by the Divine, but she died along with just about all the senior clergy. Only one person survived an explosion that leveled a mountain top.” Hawke’s hands dropped from his coat and she sat back on her heels, amused. Fenris came to her side and offered her his hand to pull her back up to standing. 

“And who was this lucky bastard?” Hawke asked. 

“A dwarf. I can’t even make this shit up, Hawke. A dwarf with a glowing mark on her hand that can close these rifts like they were never there.” 

“That.” Fenris pointed up. “Is very much still there, Varric.” 

“Well, yes, but that’s the biggest one.” Varric excused. “She managed to stop it from getting bigger. Fought our way up there to try and close it. At least demons aren’t falling out of it anymore and they’re going to try another attempt with help from the mages or the templars. Whoever meets with them first, I guess.” 

“They think enough magic poured into it will close it.” Hawke guessed. “Or that enough Templars can suppress it enough to do the same thing.” 

“Exactly.” Varric grinned. “It’ll make a great story. I’ve got to see how it ends.” 

“Is this the dwarf you were with?” Fenris asked. 

“You saw her? What does she look like?” Some life had returned to Hawke’s features, curiosity shining in her features. 

“A dwarf.” Fenris answered with a smirk. “Short.” Hawke whacked his shoulder lightly. 

“She must be pretty if she convinced Varric to stay.” Hawke’s tone was suggestive and sly. Varric rolled his eyes and patted his crossbow. 

“Careful Hawke, you’ll make Bianca jealous. Anyway, they’re calling her the Herald of Andraste now and only part of the Chantry is trying to kill her.” 

“Maybe she can give me pointers.” Hawke sighed. “Varric, this isn’t your mess. After this is over, who’s to say what they do next?” 

“That’s the thing… I need your help. Since you’re here.” Varric shuffled back and forth. “There was red lyrium at the temple. It shouldn’t have been there, but it was.”

“You’re shitting me.” Hawke accused. Fenris swore. “But Varric, the thaig is the whole way back in Kirkwall. There’s no way…” 

“I need to find out, for sure. If it wasn’t our accidental discovery that caused this, then fine. But if it was me…” 

“Us.” Hawke corrected. 

“If the red lyrium came from Kirkwall, it is my mess.” Varric finished. “Hawke, you know what it does. You and Broody could look into it.” And get out of this area, Varric finished. The last thing he needed was Hawke in the middle of the mage and templar war. 

“You’ll be okay?” Hawke asked suspiciously. 

“I swear. And you’ll be too. That’s an order, Hawke. Maker, you look like shit.” Varric scowled. Hawke laughed. 

“You know how to compliment a girl, don’t you?” She asked. 

 

The next morning dawned cold and clear. Varric took his time leisurely dressing and readying his pack. Hawke and Fenris had melted back into the shadows, hopefully with Hawke’s conscience resting a bit easier. Fenris had sworn to get Hawke far away from the Breach and the Inquisition. Varric could only hope that was enough to keep both of them safe. 

Their small group was waiting at the gates of Haven, following the initial scouting party down into the Hinterlands. Maria was sitting uneasily on a small rugged pony as Cullen stood beside her, instructing her on the protocols of riding. Varric paused, trying to contain his amusement. He supposed it was unlikely a Carta dwarf learned to ride. It was the first time he’d seen Maria Cadash look even a bit uncertain of herself.

“Never learned?” Varric asked as he approached his own pony, patting it affectionately. 

“They wanted to put me on something twice my size.” Maria groused as Cullen smiled softly. 

“A mistake, we didn’t realize you hadn’t learned. We shouldn’t have assumed.” He answered. “She’ll carry you safely, though. She’s a calm thing.” Cullen paused, eyes flicking up in question. “There is no need to travel is such a small group, Herald.” 

“Maria.” She corrected immediately. 

“I can spare some troops.” Cullen finished. 

“No you can’t, I read your reports.” Maria argued. “You’re stretched thin, Cullen. Besides, I like groups of four. I’m used to them.” 

“As you wish, Herald.” Cullen inclined his head toward Varric and stepped back. “Take the reins like I showed you.” 

Maria took a deep breath, catching the reins in her hands. Cullen nodded. “Now, give her a nudge with your heel. Yes, like that.” The pony responded immediately, walking forward. “And make her go left...that’s it.” Cullen nodded, approvingly. 

“You’re much nicer to me than the recruits, Cullen.” Maria teased. “Shouldn’t you be telling me there are reins in my hand, use them?” 

“You’re much better looking than the recruits.” Varric grinned as he clambered up his own pony. Cullen’s faced went immediately red and he sputtered, ducking his head. 

“That isn’t... I didn’t… but you…” Cullen grasped for words and Maria smirked, turning to Varric. 

“You broke him.” She accused. “Now who’s going to teach me how to ride?” 

“I didn’t know the reaction would be this good.” Varric grinned. “Cat got your tongue, Curly?” 

“Ignore him, Cullen.” Maria tried to be stern but her eyes were dancing with merriment. “I think I’ll make it down the mountain without breaking my neck. Give the recruits my best wishes.” 

Cullen escaped faster than Varric would have bet he could. Varric chuckled. “I’ll be damned, I didn’t think he had a thing for dwarves.” 

“I’m sure he doesn’t, Tethras. I think the Chantry sisters just never taught him how to talk to women.” She observed, tugging on her gloves. “Glad to know someone has noticed how absolutely attractive I am, though.” 

Varric tried to ignore the implications despite the lurch in his stomach. Maker, did she have to be so damn attractive? It was a crime. “Wasn’t sure I’d see you this morning, though.” She commented, face neutral as she looked over at him with a raised eyebrow and those piercing eyes. 

“You wound me, Princess. I’m as good as my word.” Varric swore, wide eyed and innocent. Maria smiled down at her glove. 

“Good to have such a loyal friend in my group. Maybe I can earn that too.” She said quietly, satisfied. Varric was momentarily at a loss for words. She knew, which wasn’t that surprising. He’d had a hundred different tales ready for when she confronted him about it. He had explanations, excuses, denials, really anything he needed. In the face of unquestioning acceptance he felt… well, truly shocked. “Since you scared off my instructor, I trust you’ll be riding beside me as I try not to fall off this thing?” 

“First rule of riding.” Varric began, pulling his pony up alongside hers. “Don’t fall off.” 

“Ah, and the second?” She asked, bemused as she waved toward Solas. 

“Ride in good company, preferably with a charming and handsome storyteller.” Varric winked. 

“If you’re quite finished.” Cassandra scoffed, swinging onto her large mount. Solas was removing the saddle from his with evident distaste at the contraption. 

“Oh, I’m never finished, Seeker. Let me tell you about this regular from the Hanged Man. He was a big guy, nearly as big as those Qunari, but he smelled twice as bad as the Kirkwall docks on it’s worst day…” 


	16. The Breakers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris and Hawke deal with her worsening guilt and sadness. Fenris can't fetch water in peace. Anders is discussed.

They headed east, away from the mountains, following the main road but sticking to the trees and shadows. Fenris won’t consent for them to return to the king’s road until they approached West Hill. One of their many bolt holes was nearby and they found their way to it. It’s not more than a shack with a griffon scratched onto the window sill. Fenris still searched every nook before he was able to sit beside Hawke in front of the hearth. “The stores we left here last are gone.” He remarked. Hawke shrugged. 

“Probably starving refugees. Or maybe a Warden. They’re welcome to it.” Her hair was wet from sleet falling outside and she had it fanned across her shoulder, attempting to dry it. Her appetite had been lacking, but Fenris was determined that he’d get some good meals into her before they left this place. Tomorrow, they would check the closest drop for letters from Carver or Merrill and come up with a plan. This evening, they can get some sleep with a roof over their head. 

“I’ve been awful, haven’t I?” Hawke asked, idly playing with a lock of her hair as she stared into the fire. Fenris stared into the flames as well and sighed. He tapped his fingers on the hearthstone, making a conscious effort not to look at Hawke. 

“You have not been well.” He admitted. “Varric would say you were brooding.” 

“Maybe I learned it from you.” Her lips quirked into a small half smile but it vanished quickly into the flickering firelight. Fenris turned, bringing his hand up to cup her cheek. He brushed the pad of his thumb across her cheekbone, under her blue eyes. 

“I have also been unbearable.” Fenris responded. “The nightmares are getting worse.” 

Hawke brought her hand up to rest over his and tilted her cheek into his palm. She sighed, deflating slowly. She then turned and placed a kiss on his open palm. Fenris could feel that brief touch scalding his skin in the best way. Hawke’s touch was always like that, burning and good. 

“You die.” Fenris continued, unable to stop now. “Every night since that explosion I watch you die. I have held you as you bleed to death. I have murdered you with my own hands. Templars have..defiled you and cut your throat. I can’t bear it.” Fenris squeezed his eyes shut, fighting to keep the tremor from his voice.

“I’m right here.” She soothed. “Amatus, feel.” Hawke took his hand and moved it slowly, over her swan’s neck, down the dip in her skin bordered by her collarbones, resting his palm over her breast where he could feel the bright steady beat of her heart. 

“Sometimes I feel as if you wish to die. You wish to sacrifice yourself.” Fenris waited for an answer, but Hawke didn’t say anything. When Fenris opened his eyes, hers were fixed on him with a mixture of despair and longing. “I am right, then?” He questioned. 

“Fenris, if I had died instead of Bethany…” She began. 

“Fasta vass.” Fenris growled. “And where would I be, Reyna? If you had died in Lothering, what would have happened to me?”

“You wouldn’t be on the run, again.” Hawke fought. With surprising suddenness, Fenris was on her, picking her up and carrying her to the small bed, depositing her silently. 

“I’d have never  _ stopped  _ running.” He pressed kisses to her neck, her shoulders, his hands tugging her tunic from where it was tucked into her pants. He heard fabric rip as he yanked the blouse over her head, pressing his mouth hungrily down the globes of her breasts. He pulled back to let his hands run under her back, tugging the laces of her bustier. Hawke’s cheeks were pink. Good, he thought. 

“I’d be dead off the roadside.” He continued as the offending bit of stiff fabric came loose and his hands brushed across her sensitive nipples. She made a small mewing noise and Fenris did it again for the pleasure of hearing it again. Her back arched up off the bed and Fenris took the opportunity to pull down her breeches, smalls and hall, slowly letting his fingers linger on the creamy skin of her thighs until he pulled them off completely. His goddess was on the bed, unclothed before him, writhing under him. He ran his hands down her sides, over her waist, the curve of her hips.

“Fenris…” She whined. He leaned it to capture her lips and her hands bunched in his own tunic, slipped underneath it to run up his taut stomach. Fenris felt his cock swell in anticipation, but he wasn’t done. 

“Or worse. Back in Minrathous, Reyna, leashed and bound. Is that what you’d want for me in this world without you?” He asked. The words were harsher than he meant them and she flinched, eyes wide. 

“Fenris, stop, I don’t want to think… not now.” She pleaded. 

“Then you must stop.” He ordered, gripping her wrists in his hands, holding them still. “You  _ must _ stop this. I cannot bear it. I cannot bear life without you. Kaffas, don’t you see you’d sacrifice us both?” He pressed. Reyna trembled beneath him. In the light of the fire, Fenris could see tears spilling from her eyes.  

“I will try.” She answered. 

That was better than nothing. Fenris dropped her wrists and Hawke wrapped her arms around his waist, pulling him to her nude body and burying her face in his neck. Fenris embraced her tightly, pressing his lips to her ear. “I love you. Only you. Always you.” He promised. 

 

_ Thick chains bound his wrists to the wall behind him. They had rubbed his skin raw until they bled and yet he still pulled at them, swearing and screaming at the effort. Before him, his lover’s body was stretched on an altar. Blood ran down the stone in rivulets, joining older rust colored stains. Her own limbs were manacled to the altar and her struggles were becoming weaker as her life’s essence dripped away.  _

_ Danarius stood above her with a knife that he used like a quill to draw exquisite designs on flesh. He was smiling down at her and he brushed her hair back from her face like a lover would, leaning down to kiss her lips before smirking at Fenris. He would throw up, right here. “I will kill you.” Fenris swore, ripping the manacles against his flesh once more.  _

_ Danarius’s grin stretched his face, turning him more into beast than man. His hand traveled down Hawke’s naked flesh, tracing the lines of blood. “What would you give me, little wolf, if I stopped?”  _

_ “No.” Hawke’s voice was weak, a moan more than anything. Danarius chuckled, gesturing behind him.  _

_ “You will regret that, little hawk.” Danarius promised. “I will break those wings. Bring the lyrium.” He ordered his apprentice. They poured the dust into Hawke’s wounds and all Fenris could hear were her agonized screams.  _

 

He woke up cradled in her arms, she was stroking his hair and humming a disjointed lullaby. He wrapped his arms around her, hands exploring smooth and unmarked flesh. “I’m here.” She whispered. “You were yelling, but it is only a dream.” 

“He had you.” Fenris breathed in her scent, willing his racing heart to stop. It is a testament to their shared history that Hawke doesn’t need to ask who he was speaking of. 

“He’s dead. I was there, I saw him fall. He can’t touch us.” She reassured. “I’ll find those herbs today.”

“Not yet.” Fenris croaked, pulling her tighter. He can see watery sunlight through the oil papered windows. Hawke continued to stroke his hair until the sun was high in the sky and Lucia was whining to be let out. They dressed and Hawke braided her hair. “I’ll fetch water.” Fenris offered as he snapped his breastplate into place.

“That leaves me to check the drop and see if I can find the herbs I need. Meet back here in two hours?” 

“Take Lucia if you’ll be wandering the forest.” Fenris held up one finger as she opened her mouth to argue. “Don’t. Either Lucia goes or I do.” 

“Lucia would be terrible at hauling water.” Hawke conceded with a smile. “Alright, mother. But be safe, alright? C’mon girl. Let’s see if you can get us a rabbit too.” Hawke whistled and Lucia ran to her side from the open door, covered in grass and mud. Fenris groaned and shook his head. Hawke took a basket and Fenris took the buckets. 

There was a clear stream and a small pond. Fenris filled the buckets in the steam and then paused to splash the cool water on his face. He settled himself on the shore, examining his reflection in the calm waters of the pond. There were fish in there. He could cook them and eat them. He could also live several days without sinking that low. There were roots too at the edge of the lake, what did Merrill call them? Regardless, they were good to eat if cooked properly. They’d go well with rabbit if Lucia managed to get one. Fenris grabbed a handful and pulled, tossing them into a pile behind him. He got up, leaving his sword with the buckets as he moved around the edge of the pond. There was something soothing in this work, something that reminded him of something…

He was jarred from his thoughts by the sound of heavy footsteps and branches snapping, birds fleeing. He lifted his head as if he could scent the air as truly as his namesake. Perhaps not danger, it was unlikely in this area there’d be anything worth fighting. Better safe than sorry, he reminded himself as he made his way back to the lake. He was nearly at his buckets and sword before the branches parted and three figures stumbled out of the woods. 

They were all too skinny, cheekbones pronounced in hollow faces. The woman was wearing heavy armor, her hair short and cropped close and a short sword in her hand, a wooden shield tied to her wrist. The man behind her was taller, clutching a bow and dressed in dirty leathers with his long hair caught in a ponytail. Behind both of them was a small figure dressed in dirty robes that pooled around his feet. They seemed shocked to see him, the man raising his bow immediately and pointing an arrow at Fenris. Fenris froze, waiting. 

“Is this...this is the elf?” The man asked the woman with the sword. “Here?”

“The lyrium markings are distinctive.” The monotone voice said from behind them. “The odds of another having similar are low.” 

“You, what is your name?” The woman demanded harshly. Fenris didn’t answer, raising an eyebrow instead. The silence stretched on. His sword was just out of distance on his right, a dive for it would see it in his hand. Dangerous to do so with the arrow ready to fly. As soon as the arrow flew, he could dodge and grab the blade. Then these fools would be gone. 

“Perhaps you should inquire after the location of the Champion?” The girl suggested again, tone devoid of excitement or nervousness. Fenris spared a look at her, could just make out the edge of a sunburst brand under her bangs. He tried to let nothing show on his face, tried to imagine the word Champion meant nothing, 

“We will free her from you, elf. It is a righteous cause.” The woman with the sword promised. This did get a reaction from Fenris, his eyes meeting hers, seeing the fiery zeal behind them. Freed? What in the Maker’s name were they on about. “We have been warned of you. Our friends spread stories of your hatred, your prejudice and bloodlust.” The woman continued, spitting the words out viciously. 

“Who are you?” Fenris asked, curiosity getting the better of common sense. When the arrow flew, he would dodge. If the archer was slow enough, he’d have it in his hand to deflect the second arrow. If the archer was quicker...well, as Hawke would say, his vital bits were covered up with the armor. 

“The Breakers.” The man said without hesitation. “Now, you knife ear. Where’s the Champion? Is she still alive?” 

“You want to remedy that, I assume?” Fenris’s fingers flexed as he stared. “I won’t allow it.” 

“You have stolen her!” The woman shrieked and brandished her sword, running down the gentle slope towards the pond. The archer fired. Fenris dodged just as he’d hoped he would and his fingers gripped the handle of his blade, deftly raising it in plenty of time to take the blow from the short sword, parrying it back. Another arrow flew towards him and the point buried into his upper arm. The pain was barely noticeable under the adrenaline pulsing through him. The lyrium lining his skin lit up and he let out a feral scream, charging on his own, strength and grace and muscle memory behind the swing of his blade. 

The woman’s armor was cheap, poorly made. His blade didn’t pierce straight through, but the flimsy metal dented and he heard the satisfying crack of broken ribs. The woman gasped, doubling over long enough for Fenris to deflect the third arrow. Then there was a long, loud howl and a booming bark. The archer went down, bow with him as nearly two hundred pounds of dog bowled him over. “Lucia, to Fenris!” Hawke yelled and the hound bolted from the archer just in time for flames to rain down from the sky. Fenris heard screams and the smelt the sickening stench of burned flesh wafting down to him. 

The woman let out a scream of primal fury, her blade swinging wildly. Fenris countered with another perry and swung for her unguarded throat. Blood spurted from her arteries, covering his armor. Then she was gone, her head rolling into the murky water of the pond. Hawke was in front of the smaller woman, her staff pointed at her threateningly. “Fenris?” She called, the unspoken question in the air as Lucia sniffed him. 

“Mostly unharmed.” He answered, reaching up to rip out the arrow in his flesh. The barbed tip ripped his skin and caused him to hiss softly as he dropped it, examining the wound. 

“It is good to see you alive, Champion.” The woman said, politely enough, as a blue bottle dropped from her hand. “I am sorry we are unable to complete the rescue. Perhaps the next time.” 

“What?” Hawke snapped. “What in Andraste’s ass are you talking about?”

“Apparently you need rescued from me.” Fenris interjected dryly. Hawke’s brow wrinkled in confusion.

“I was to give you a message if I saw you, Champion. I’m afraid I don’t have much time left. I was not to allow myself to be captured by hostile forces. I was instructed that if my siblings fell I was to drink the poison. It is from Tevinter, called Aconitum…”

Fenris swore as Hawke bent to pick up the blue bottle. He was at her side instantly, grabbing her hand back. “Don’t risk it.” He growled. “It can be absorbed through the skin as well.” 

“What is the message?” Hawke demanded. 

“When you choose to jump into the abyss, he will wait for you. There can be no compromise.” The tranquil repeated, her skin was growing pale. She swayed, then collapsed, eyes meeting Hawke’s horrified expression. “Love is not an emotion I understand, but these are my siblings and they loved me. Yet I upset them because I am not prey to emotions as they were. They told me about before I was tranquil. I admit, much of it was illogical. As was taking me with them.” The tranquil woman’s mouth opened and closed a few times and her eyes rolled up in her head. Hawke covered her mouth as the woman dropped fully, head hitting the ground. Her body was wracked with spasms for a moment, then mercifully was still. 

“Fenris.” Hawke gasped. “What was that stuff?” 

“It’s also known as wolf’s bane.” Fenris explained, using his boot to crush the bottle and shove it into the soft soil. “Less popular than magical assassinations in Tevinter, but only marginally so.” 

“Did you hear? Did you hear what she said?” Hawke demanded. Fenris only barely managed to restrain himself from responding that of course he had. 

“Maker Fenris, nobody knows.” She cursed several times, then began again, pulling from his side and pushing her hair back from her face. “Who knows about what Flemeth told me? About what Anders said right before he blew up the damned chantry? Who knows all that, Fenris?” 

“Perhaps many people.” Fenris said levelly. “Varric did write a book.”

Hawke’s laughter was tinged with hysteria. She whirled back to him, braid flying out behind her. “Do you honestly believe that?” She asked. “Some crazy people who read Varric’s damned book?”

“No.” Fenris admitted. The abomination did what abominations did - covet. “He has gathered a group of dangerous people together and told them that I have stolen you. As if you could be stolen.” Fenris scowled. “They called themselves Breakers.”

“You don’t seem particularly upset by this situation, Fenris.” Hawke gestured uselessly to the bodies around him. “Maker, what if I wouldn’t have been coming to find you?” 

“I think I’m quite capable of of handling one tranquil mage, a rogue, and a shoddy swordswoman.” Fenris tried not to sound like he was suffering from injured pride. Tried. “I would rather fight for my life than have you fight for yours.” Fenris admitted. 

“That’s encouraging.” Hawke grumbled, crossing her arms across her chest. Fenris was staring at the broken vial, connections swirling in his head. 

“I believe your abomination has wanted me dead for quite a while. Perhaps since we left Kirkwall. Zevran informed me a mage had attempted to take a contract on my life with the crows but had balked at the cost. I assumed it was related to the death of Danarius. Perhaps he made it to Antiva.” Fenris mused. 

“When were you going to tell me?” Hawke demanded, color rising in her face. 

“You had too many cares already. Your enemies were at our heels.” 

“My enemies.” She repeated acidly. Fenris indicated the corpses on the ground. 

“They certainly believed I was not a friend.” He pointed out. 

“Fenris, you are my husband!” Hawke exploded. “Till death or trained assassins come! To have and hold and fight against crazed mages and templars both!” 

“I don’t recall those being the exact vows.” He couldn’t help the twitch in his mouth into an indulgent smile. She was still fuming. 

“You lied to me! By omission Fenris! Even if it had been some Tevinter arsehole I needed to know!” She challenged. “Now look what has happened!” 

“This would have happened if you had known or not. Nothing would have changed.” Fenris reasoned. 

“Maybe we would have gone hunting him instead of slavers! Maybe I wouldn’t have waited for someone to attack you!” 

“Venhedis, listen to yourself!” Fenris challenged. “Maybes and perhaps and shoulds. You live in a world where you regret everything.” Hawke’s eyes hardened and she pulled a crumpled letter into his face from her belt. Fenris caught it, unrumpling it. 

“Aveline wrote. Carver and Merrill were there, stopping through, when they started to hear voices. Aveline is refusing to let them leave the keep. They say they’re dying.” She turned as coldly as she’d thrown the letter, storming back off into the trees. 

“Reyna.” Fenris called after her. She didn’t turn and look back but continued to plow heedlessly through the branches. Fenris sighed and looked down at his buckets and Lucia who whined pitifully. 

 

When Fenris returned to the cabin, Hawke was not there. He cleaned the blood from his armor and waited, listening for every snapping twig, every bird scared enough to take flight. When that was done, he paced the floor in front of the hearth while Lucia watched from the bed. Night fell, and still Hawke did not return. Fenris wished violently for wine, perhaps to drink, but surely to throw the bottles against the walls and listen to the satisfying shatter of glass. 

He had made up his mind to take Lucia and look for her and was reaching for his breastplate when she came back, shivering from the cold, fingers and lips tinged blue. Without a word he pulled her to the fire and draped his cloak over her shoulders. “I went into West Hill.” She offered, even though Fenris had decided not to press. “To learn more about those three.” 

“I would have gone with you.” Fenris took the time to examine Hawke closely. Her eyes were weary, sad. She drew her knees up to her chin as she stared into the flames. 

“They’re trying to kill you. It’s better you didn’t.” She responded stubbornly. Fenris used a poker to stoke the flames, waiting. “They passed through town briefly, but I managed to track them back to an abandoned barn not more than a mile from here. They’d been there a few days, had probably been using the pond for their water too. I found some letters of a personal nature regarding them. They were siblings, the tranquil was the youngest. She’d been forced to undergo the rite after she reported that a Knight Captain had raped her shortly before the rebellion.” Hawke’s voice was hard, bitter. “Makes you think Anders was right, doesn’t it?” 

“Perhaps it would never had happened if the abomination hadn’t done anything.” Fenris snapped out. Hawke laughed without humor. 

“Maybe it had been happening all along.” Hawke whispered. “But I don’t want to fight. That’s not all I found.” She reached into her pack and pulled out pages stitched together with thread to form a cheap book. Fenris could see lines of small, cramped writing stretching endlessly over the pages. He knew that writing, he’d been finding copies of that blasted thing all over Kirkwall for ages. She held it out to him and Fenris took it like he was handling a venomous snake. 

“Ah, the manifesto.” Fenris remarked. 

“I believe it is now more a treatise. It’s too long to be a manifesto now. I read it, that’s what took so long.” She shook her head in resignation. “You’re mentioned by name as a viper in the bosom of the revolution. A shining example of the worst of intolerance and prejudice.” 

“How exactly does he explain my standing beside three mages for seven years?” Fenris questioned, bewildered. 

“Oh, you’re obsessed with subjugating me as a representation of the Magisters from Tevinter. It’s all there, I’m not going to continue to repeat this trash Fenris.” She waved her hand carelessly to the pages. Fenris snorted. 

“As if you could be subjugated.” He said softly, his fingers reaching for her gleaming dark hair and tucking in behind her ear gently. He felt his countenance soften and Hawke’s shoulders released some of their tension. “You’re incorrigible.” 

“You love it.” She smiled weakly. “There’s worse, Fenris. Anders...he’s advocating that breaking the circles is no longer enough, that freedom isn’t enough. He wants… he wants every templar and every family member of every templar made to answer for the treatment of mages. He wants to wipe out anyone who has ever known or loved a templar.” 

“Vengeance.” Fenris stated softly. Hawke leaned into his hand, repeating the word bitterly. 

“I should have killed him. Another mistake on top of all the others I’ve made.” She bemoaned. 

“A mistake made out of goodness, not malice.” Fenris replied. 

“Perhaps they should write that on my tombstone. ‘She tried.’” Hawke closed her eyes, her tone falsely light. “Maker, I’m tired.” 

“We will handle it.” Fenris assured her. 

“Red lyrium and Varric first, then we’ll take care of Anders.” Hawke swore, lyrium blue eyes fastening on his. “And you won’t go after him alone.” 

“I will not.” Fenris promised. “I will go at your side.” 


	17. Secret Promises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maria Cadash settles in new allies and deals with an unexpected visitor. Varric deals with the ramifications of secret promises.

Varric Tethras had a running list of things he hated and it had grown exponentially since he’d first set off from Haven. True, braised nug with elfroot was still very near the top, but now he could add on saddle sores, those damned bugs that stung and bit and loved to swarm up in clouds the instant you stepped off a path, and the clerics of Val Royeaux. He sighed as his pony climbed up the path, eyes lingering on the walls of Haven that still seemed quite a distance uphill. 

“This is it, yeah?” Their newest recruit, a scraggly blonde elf with the worst Denerim accent Varric had ever heard asked. “I mean, nice enough I guess. Thought it’d be...bigger.” 

“Sorry to disappoint.” Maria responded dryly. “Next time, I’ll make sure the sky blows up over a fortress.” 

“And somewhere warmer.” Varric grumbled. “I’ve heard Tevinter is lovely this time of year.” 

“Tevinter is exactly where a big ass hole in the sky should go, if you ask me.” Maria retorted with a snort. 

“What’s up their bits?” Sera asked Cassandra, who gave a long suffering sigh. 

“Apparently, dwarves are not meant to spend so much time in a saddle. And they continue to tell us this. Repeatedly.” Cassandra gripped her reins tighter in her hands, looking almost wistfully at Haven as well. 

Warden Blackwall chuckled easily from Maria’s left. “Takes any ass some time to get used to the saddle. You’ve done quite well my lady.” 

“She rides like she’s accompanying a cart to market.” Vivienne sniffed. “Of course, my dear, we can work on it.” Maria rolled her eyes. 

“My ass just wants out of the saddle. Maybe into a bath, Maker, that’d be nice.” She tucked a piece of red hair behind her ear. Varric couldn’t help but notice the way she clenched and unclenched her left hand. It was one of the many small things he’d begun to notice about her as they’d spent two weeks wandering the countryside. Her hand ached, and he wasn’t the only one who had noticed. Cassandra had taken to wrapping it when they made camp with a poultice without Maria ever having asked for the assistance. She’d laughed and called Cassandra a doting fool. It seemed to be worse when she was exhausted or right after she closed a rift. Chuckles had no answers for them as to why. 

There were other things to notice too. She took time to talk to everyone and promised what help she could to ordinary people. It reminded him, endearingly, of Hawke when she had held up an elven wedding band she’d found on a dead templar and remarked that they’d double back when they returned to camp and give it to the widow. She found supplies for the sick and ailing refugees, helped hunt rams, and in general charmed the socks off whoever she met with as much skill and finesse as a seasoned diplomat. She didn’t complain about the bugs or the lack of fine cuisine. In fact, she only joined him in complaining about the constant hours or horseback riding when pressed to do so. 

She had stolen the hearts of the people in the Hinterlands. The Herald, they whispered when she approached. Children gave her pretty flower bouquets, which she then laid at the graves of the fallen. Refugees became recruits in droves. Not complaining and always smiling were conscious efforts, he was sure. Sometimes, just briefly, he could see weariness in between those moments. The caring though...that was genuine and came from somewhere deep under her skin. There was steel under that too, though. He’d seen that when she’d stared down the Lord Seeker after he had slapped an old woman. The man was nearly three times her height and covered head to toe in grand armor, but Maria Cadash was a princess who bowed to no man. She had asked, coldly, if that display had been meant to impress her. When the Lord Seeker had vanished with his templars, she had pressed a poultice to the head of the woman who had denounced her and Varric saw doubt on the clerics faces. 

Maybe she was the damned Herald of Andraste. Of course, she didn’t think so. But then, that was a big part of being sent from the Maker, right? You weren’t supposed to actually think yourself sent from the Maker. That was the fine line between heroic and fanatic.

Cullen was waiting at the gates, beaming. “You’ve returned!” He greeted.

“Don’t be too happy, Cullen. It wasn’t a roaring success.” She groaned, stretching her back. Cullen offered his hand to help her dismount, swinging the small woman to the ground easily. Varric had to slide off on his own, of course.

“Perhaps not all of it. Leliana’s people made it back before you, so we know about the situation in Val Royeaux.” Cullen’s face darkened, but then he jerked his chin to the recruits sparring. “Recruitment has doubled, though. You’re all people can talk about.” 

“I’m going to be honest, Cullen.” She began with a soft curve to her lips. “I’d rather them be talking about getting rid of that.” She jerked her hand up over her head. “Or getting rid of this damned thing on my hand.” 

“Boss!” The large Qunari trotted up, towering over Maria. “Heard I should have gone straight to Val Royeaux instead of bringing the boys here. Some muscle may have made those iron skirts think twice.”

“Maker, Iron skirts…” Cullen repeated, aghast. Maria laughed. 

“Next time, Bull, I promise.” She said with that wicked little smile. 

“In good time. Oh! And you have a visitor. A young woman claiming to be a relative of yours from the Free Marches. She’s been...a bit unwilling to give any other information.” Cullen reported. 

Varric raised an eyebrow, turning to Maria but she was frowning herself. “Where is she?” 

“I’m right here.” A clear voice cut in from the steps. Varric looked up and saw another dwarf, younger than Maria by several years. She was tapping her foot impatiently and had two knives strapped to her back. Her eyes were that same piercing gray, but this woman had chocolate brown curls pulled away from her face. 

“Bea.” Maria sighed, sounding resigned. 

“One line.” The young woman scowled, crossing her arms over her chest. “That’s all I get. One line saying you’re alive. Which is more than Nanna got, of course. She’s still waiting for her note. Our miners got more of an explanation from you and they bloody well never even see you.”

Maria looked helplessly at the fuming woman, then back at Cullen. She even turned imploringly to Varric, who stepped back quickly. He had not lived this long to not know one didn’t get between two women fighting. “Perhaps this is better done in private.” Cassandra offered stiffly. 

“Oh, I’m not allowed to embarass you in front of your new friends?” The woman wrinkled her nose in distaste as her eyes swept across the crowd. 

“Pretty, that one.” Sera remarked. “Like ‘em feisty. And smooshy, right?” 

“Stop it.” Maria ordered, stomping up the steps and grabbing the woman’s arm. She dragged the other woman away in a huff toward the cabin she used. 

“Who do you think that was?” Blackwall broke the silence. 

“Sister.” Varric and Cassandra said together. Varric chuckled as Cassandra rolled her eyes. “Nobody fights like that, Hero, unless they’re siblings.” He finished, watching the two dwarven women disappear into the cabin. 

 

Varric didn’t see Maria until the next day as she made her way to the chantry with the young woman trailing in her wake, her hands flailing in agitation. With a roll of her eyes, Maria altered her course just enough to deposit the two of them squarely in front of Varric. Maria was using her most charming smile and alarm bells were ringing. “Varric.” She almost purred his name. “I didn’t get a chance to introduce my baby sister, this is Beatrix.” 

“Charmed.” Varric offered his hand to the younger dwarf. She glared at him suspiciously and ignored the proffered appendage as if he’d offered her shit on a plate. Bea’s gray eyes swung back to Maria immediately. 

“I was sent here to bring you home. I’m not leaving until I do.” There was a stubborn set in her jaw, tenseness radiating from her posture. Maria sighed. 

“Bea, I don’t have time for this right now.” She folded her own arms over her chest and glared. “I am late to a very important meeting. We can keep arguing after. Varric, can you do...something with her.” 

Maria looked absolutely lost for words and her sister was bristling in indignation. Varric grimaced as Maria’s hand wrapped tightly around his forearm, meeting his gaze apologetically. “I’ll owe you one.” 

“I’ll try.” Varric answered doubtfully. Maria beamed, one strong arm pushing Bea into him as she slipped quickly away and practically ran up to the chantry. 

“Ugh!” The woman righted herself, pushing away from Varric in disgust and stomping a few steps away. Her eyes were flashing quite dangerously. “I’ll kill her myself!” 

“Now c’mon.” Varric tried grinning. “There’s worse company to be stuck with, right?” 

“Where is she going?” Beatrix demanded. Varric’s eyes were drawn to those wicked daggers and he sighed, shaking his head. 

“Listen, they’re in the chantry. But the door is guarded and they’re not going to let you in. Maker’s ass, the walls are so thick in there even if you shouted yourself hoarse she’s not going to hear you. You can spend a couple hours pacing back and forth in there pissing off the sisters, or you can go to the tavern with me. Your choice.” Varric challenged. He watched the war playing over her stubborn features. She wavered for a few moments before she let out a gust of breath. 

“Fine!” She snapped. “But I’m not wasting coin on this piss they call ale.” 

Sera saw them coming and managed to clear out a whole table and get three mugs of ale put on Varric’s tab before they could make it across the room. She cackled brilliantly as she sat the overflowing mugs in front of them, splashing ale across the table. 

“You’re babysitting!” Sera crowed. “I love when noble shites get put in their places. You! You’re the herald’s pretty sister?” 

“He isn’t babysitting me.” Beatrix protested with a face like thunder. 

“I’d do a better job. With the sitting, specially.” Sera’s eyebrows wiggled. 

For a moment, Varric wasn’t sure if Beatrix was going to slug her or storm off. Something more remarkable happened instead and the dwarf giggled. “You know, they typically say Maria is the prettier one.” 

“Pft! If you like your laces straight and narrow! Plus she’s got that whole… herald thing going on, isn’t it? Glowing hands and what not. I don’t need it glowing all night.” Sera leaned closer, pushing the ale closer. Varric was beginning to hope this would be easier than anticipated. 

“It does!” Beatrix picked up the ale and took a swig. “Maker! All night! I made her put a glove on.” 

“I didn’t think anyone from the Carta would come looking for her.” Varric mused. 

“Piss off!” Beatrix exclaimed. “What, the merchant’s guild is such a standard for good behavior?” 

“Ah, shit. I meant, she seemed to still be doing a lot of work.” Varric tried to placate the glaring woman. Sera giggled, placing her head on her interlocked hands. 

“All she does is work.” Beatrix sulked, “Maria wasn’t even supposed to be here, y’know. Nanna...had somebody she wanted her to meet, back in Ostwick. This was my job, but…” she struggled for the words as she took another gulp of ale. 

“Something happened?” Varric prodded. 

“Someone happened.” Beatrix winced. “I was doing another run out near Starkhaven, but well it got complicated because there was a really attractive mercenary, I mean, legs for days. Turns out she was working for an opposing smuggling ring. It got messy and Nanna had to send reinforcements. Maria came here instead.” 

Varric snorted, raising his glass to hide his grin. To think, the fate of the inquisition depended on one dwarf who was almost not present because a younger sibling couldn’t keep their breeches on. Varric couldn’t make this shit up. Sera was howling with laughter. “It isn’t funny! When I first heard… I thought she was dead and it was all my fault.” 

“She didn’t die, though. That’s not how the best stories start.” Varric offered. Searching gray eyes, so much like her sister’s, swept over him.

“I know who you are, Varric Tethras.” She said his name slowly, rolling the syllables in her mouth. “What’s an author and a deshyr doing here?” 

“What’s a deshyr? Sounds dirty.” Sera sniffed and Beatrix’s smile quirked up at the corners. 

“Merchant prince. All full of themselves and important like their shit doesn’t stink.” She said, smooth and satisfied. Sera grabbed her mug and downed the last of the ale, pulling on Beatrix’s arm. 

“C’mon, blow this shite. I know how to do a real party.” Sera challenged. “And my legs go on and on too, see!” 

The two disappeared like a whirlwind, leaving Varric with his own ale, a spilled mug, and and Sera’s empty. He shook his head, bewildered. He needed to tell the Seeker how lucky she was they had the right Cadash. 

 

“Fuck.” Maria’s voice was strained as she stopped beside Varric. “I knew she’d ditch you first chance. Any idea what kind of trouble she planned on causing?” 

“The best kind, I’m sure, by the looks she was shooting Sera.” Varric responded easily, setting down his quill and ledger. 

“I wish I could say I was surprised. Do you have any idea how many beds I’ve pulled her out of? It’s a nightmare.” Maria sank down on the bench beside him, her thigh brushing his. 

“It’s one of the benefits of being the younger sibling. The oldest gets the glory, the youngest gets to make regrettable decisions.” He allowed her a few moments to swear and huff before he asked. “What did you miss is Ostwick?” 

She started as if he had burned her and his curiosity burned to life like one of Hawke’s fires. “Nothing important.” She answered vaguely. “I didn’t want to go anyway. Didn’t want to be here particularly, either. I’d have rather gone to Starkhaven and kicked Bea’s ass but Nanna was insistent that it had to be one of the immediate family and I was the one with the least pressing business.” 

“And that was?” Varric asked again, grinning. 

“We were looking at hiring nugs as our newest smugglers. Much less expensive than dwarves, you know.” She tried to make her eyes wide and innocent. Varric laughed. 

“I’d hire bogfishers instead. They can carry more.” Varric advised. Maria smirked and shook her head. 

“They smell terrible, worse than some of the dwarves I’ve worked with.” She shuddered with disgust. 

“So no lover awaiting you in Ostwick with baited breath and eager anticipation?” Varric asked smoothly. Maria let out a noise of disgust that rivaled Cassandra’s shaking her head. 

“You’re not going to let this go, are you?” She inquired, amazed.

“Author’s curiosity.” Varric shrugged with that explanation. 

“Oh? And here I was thinking it was personal, Tethras.” She teased, a small smile on her rose colored lips. It fell as he waited expectantly. She looked at the ground, scuffing the dirt with her boot. “No. No lover waiting in Ostwick. I prefer to allow the romantic shenanigans to concern Bea. I’ve terrible luck.”

“There’s a story there.” Varric commented lightly. 

“A tragedy, more like.” Maria’s face was dark now, like thunderclouds passing over the sky. “There was someone once. He’s dead. Died during the blight.” 

Varric winced. “Shit. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.” 

“Probably not.” She answered, tone clipped as she stood. “We’re heading back to Redcliffe tomorrow. I’ve received an invitation from the Tevinter magister holed up there to negotiate for the mages. I’m to come alone.” 

“Right… because that isn’t a set up at all.” Varric groaned, rubbing his face with his hand. Maker, he was an idiot and she was furious and he didn’t know what to say. 

“It almost certainly is, but we have a clever plan. Granted, I had a clever plan to spy on the conclave too and look what happened there.” She shrugged. Her face was distant and Varric reached out, catching her wrist. 

“I’ll go with you. Let me make up for being an ass.” He said gently. Her wrist was solid, warm under his gloved fingers. 

“You were going anyway.” She responded immediately. “Ass or no, I need someone who can shoot. Now, I’ve got to find my sister and tell her. Maybe this will all be over soon and we can go back to our lives.” 

She sounded remarkably wistful. Varric didn’t have the heart to tell her he couldn’t see that happening anytime soon. He squeezed his fingers gently around her wrist and loosened his grip. “I’m sorry.” He apologized again. 

“I’ll forgive you if you prevent me from getting killed by a Tevinter asshole.” She promised with a smile playing about her lips as she backed away. He watched her as she turned, then continued to stare after her as her red hair disappeared into the crowd. An image had formed in his mind of her, throat slit and bleeding out on marble floors. It felt like ice clawing around his heart. 

“No Princess.” He muttered to himself. “That’s not how the story ends.” 

 

“Boss, it’s a good plan.” Iron Bull said as they stopped at the closest Inquisition Camp to Redcliffe.

“Sensing a but in there, Bull.” Maria was glaring at the crude plans Leliana had drawn up. 

“There’s a lot of moving parts. Agents going through those tunnels might run into magical traps.” 

“They’re going with Dorian, if there is magic, he’s confident he can dispel it.” Maria reasoned. “We’re sending Sera and Blackwall with them. Sera says she can disarm anything with a spring or teeth and Blackwall can be there muscle, if they need him.” 

“And if we’re overwhelmed…” Bull began. 

“Cassandra is waiting here with your chargers and Vivienne. They’ll get word back to the crossroads and to Haven, but they won’t be able to help us. That’s why you’re going with Varric, and me, Bull.” She winked. “You said a tiny dwarf needs a big shield.” 

Bull shook his head, scratching his chin. “It’s easier when you just rush in swinging. Cleaner.” 

“I have a feeling there will be plenty of swinging Tiny, just aim over our heads.” Varric grinned. 

“And I am to wait outside the castle and sound the alarm if things appear to have gone badly?” Solas asked. 

“Yes, you’ve probably got the best chance of making it back here to camp through the wilderness.” Maria mused. 

“Because I am an elf?” Solas questioned. Maria looked up with a startled laugh. 

“I was thinking it’s because you’ve been an apostate sleeping in weird places all your life, but if you want to make it an elf thing…” She trailed off wickedly. Solas looked rightfully shamed. Varric couldn’t help but grin at the look on Chuckle’s face. 

“Right, let’s shoot some baddies and back to Haven for drinks, yeah?” Sera asked. 

“You’re not rushing to get back to Boss’s sister, are you Sera?” Iron Bull chuckled. 

“She’s got tattoos all up her…” 

“That’s enough of this conversation.” Maria slammed her palm on the table loudly. “Any other questions?” 

“The Tevinter mage is a large part of this plan, Herald.” Cassandra pointed out. 

“Ah, that sounded like a criticism. I was asking for questions.” Maria looked up at Cassandra from her place leaning over the map. “I’m the bait, I decide acceptable risk. When we use you as bait, you can complain.” 

“Who’d take that bait?” Sera asked with a giggle. Cassandra threw her hands up in the air and stalked off. 

“There’s a lot of ways this can go south. If it does, I recommend getting out if you can.” Varric broke in reasonably. 

“I wouldn’t leave you all behind.” Maria said stubbornly. 

“You’ve got the mark on your hand that has any chance of solving this mess. That makes you more valuable…” Iron Bull began. 

“Everyone is valuable. We start assigning value to people, we’re not better than the Magisters .” She had to crane her neck to look at Bull. He obligingly lowered his head. “I’ve never left a man behind during a job. I won’t start now just because my hand fucking glows.” 

“Right, well, hope it doesn’t come to it, Princess.” Varric sighed. “Bianca and I are ready when you are.” 

“Varric, wait.” She said suddenly. “Bull...can you give me a moment? Tell everyone to get ready.” Varric watched as Bull gave a mock salute, winking at him as he sauntered back to start shouting orders. 

“All ears, Princess. Well, and chest hair.” He said smugly.

“I’ve been thinking, back in Haven. I shouldn’t… I didn’t want to talk about it, but you don’t have to feel like shit about it. You don’t have to be sorry.” She was still staring at the map, gray eyes tracing the ink on the parchment. 

“Does that mean you’ve forgiven me? Without even letting me heroically redeem myself?” Varric teased, leaning over the table beside her, brushing her shoulder with his. “You’re alright. I shouldn’t have pried. It’s a bad habit.” 

“When he died, I promised he’d be my first and last. It was my penance for living. Melodramatic, I know, but I could never resist the grand gesture.” Her thumb drifted over the outline of the castle’s courtyard. “But...my grandmother wants me to marry, create an alliance with another Carta family. Have lots of little dwarves running around in her old age so she can meet the Maker knowing the future is secure. That’s what I was supposed to be doing in Ostwick, picking a suitor.”

“That’s not shocking, isn’t that how dwarves work? Honestly, I’m surprised she’s given you a choice. Most of the times parents just make the match without a thought to feelings.” Varric pointed out, his own fingers twitching nervously. Her eyes went to them, immediately, like she’d caught a tell in a game of cards. 

“I’ve been avoiding it successfully for ten years. She wore me down and then the whole world has to explode. Bea says she’s furious.” She couldn’t prevent the smirk on her lips. “I bet she is, tearing her damned hair out probably.” 

Varric couldn’t help his own strained chuckle. “Well, I appreciate the warning. I’ll try not to start any rumors about your lack of virtue.” 

“I didn’t want you to hear it from someone else, not really.” She leaned into him with a brief nudge and a playful smile. “I like...this. It’s fun, right? You gawk at my amazing body, I give coy glances at your chest hair, we flirt and get on Cassandra’s nerves. It’s a good thing. And we don’t break our promises, do we?” She asked, gaze flicking to the crossbow slung over his shoulder and back to him with a knowing look. 

I don’t have a promise anymore, Varric almost said. And hers was dust in the wind for ten years with the man she’d made it to. Maker, who was keeping track of all the lies and promises anymore? He thought with a jealous pang of a red ribbon tying a tanned warrior’s hand to a pale mage’s or two bodies that weren’t him clinging together in his bed. He thought of the smell of Bianca’s forge and her small hands on the gears as she laughed at him. 

He could forget all of that now, if he leaned in and brushed his lips over hers. He wondered what she tasted like, if she’d cling to him desperately and wrap her legs around his waist. “Of course.” He said instead with a brilliant grin. “Anything to annoy Cassandra.”

She relaxed muscles he hadn’t even realized were tensed and nodded. “Right. Let’s go fishing for cultists, then?” 


	18. Sealing the Breach

Varric fully expected the whole plan to go to shit as he Maria’s swaying hips into Redcliffe castle. The brown-nosed shit who tried to stop them and insist Maria go all alone had Bianca twitchy. But she’d smiled charmingly and introduced them as her attaches and insisted they were needed. He could see the calculating glances swinging between the three of them and could just imagine them calculating how a fight would go with them outnumbered slightly less. Varric thought the Iron Bull could take out six of these Tevinter bastards easily. 

Finally, they waved all three of them through. “Hope you know what you’re doing, boss.” Iron Bull whispered. 

“Me too.” Maria whispered back through teeth clenched in a false smile. Yep, Varric thought. They were definitely going to die here. They were presented to the Magister sitting prominently in the Arl of Redcliffe’s throne. Oh, Varric was willing to bet that the Arl wouldn’t be able to get the smell of Tevinter ass out of his cushions for weeks. 

“Ah, the Herald of Andraste!” The Magister greeted gleefully. “An honor. I’m sure we can work out an arrangement that in equitable to all parties.” 

“The mages have not agreed to this arrangement!” Grand Enchanter Fiona squawked. “We have children, elderly…” 

“The mages will be dispensed as we see fit.” The Magister overruled with a wave of his hand. “If the inquisition has anything of value.” 

“We have lots of value.” Maria took one step forward, then another. Varric watched warily. “In particular, our current location has the market cornered on snow and ice. I hear Tevinter is quite warm, perhaps we’ll ship some over?” 

The Magister’s false hospitality chipped and his smile dropped just an inch. “I assume that was a jest.” 

“Hardly!” Maria exclaimed. “But if you’re not interested, I believe we have an abundance of nug shit as well. It doesn’t smell pretty, but it is excellent fertilizer.” She offered tantalizingly. 

“Herald, your games are…” The Magister was rising from his seat. Maria held up her hand, palm out in a gesture to tell him to remain seated. Like this was her castle, like it was her throne. 

“Fine then. Let’s trade secrets.” She said quietly. “I know a few.” 

“Father, she knows everything.” Felix appeared from behind the throne, the Magister’s kid looked even worse than he had last time they say him. The Magister’s face fell as he looked at his son. 

“Felix, what have you done?” He asked. 

“This has gone on long enough.” Felix protested, but the Magister was out of his chair now and storming towards Maria. She didn’t flinch, she didn’t back away. She raised her head higher, red hair spilling over her shoulders. 

“You! You parade in here with your stolen mark and your disgraceful companions and you have the nerve to think you can outmaneuver your betters! You have already lost!” Spittle flew from his mouth.

“I don’t think I have.” Maria countered calmly, eyes flashing like a falcon’s. 

“Venatori, seize them!” The magister yelled. 

The only movement were soldiers crashing to the floors, throats slit. Sera was giggling and the sound was jarring against the arrow she was pointing at the Magister. 

“Villainous cliches are so overdone.” Dorian came up behind them, sharing a triumphant look with Maria as he stood beside her. Varric felt the knot in his stomach loosen just a bit. Everything had...worked. It was unheard of. “It’s over, Alexius.” 

“No.” Alexius protested, stepping back. His fist was glowing green, a different color than Maria’s mark, but similar. He was clutching a necklace. “I must fix the mistake made at the Temple. I must.” 

“Alexius, no!” Dorian shouted, racing forward with his staff. 

 

Two things happened, but Varric wasn’t sure which was real because they both couldn’t be. Maria’s face darkened as the green energy surrounded her and Dorian. She reached for her bow, but then she was gone. She was gone, glowing hand and red hair and gray eyes, gone. Bianca was in his hands, bolts firing as the Magister deflected and there was chaos from behind him, but it was too late, because Maria Cadash and Dorian were both gone. His head was aching like someone had just split his skull with an axe and the Herald of Andraste was gone...

 

But she wasn’t. The energy obscured them for only a moment and she was there, but her bow was in her hand and it shouldn’t be. Her eyes were shadowed and hard and her jaw was clenched. She was covered in blood and gore, there were bits of something in her hair, and there was a bleeding gash on her arm where a broadsword had been too quick or she’d been too slow. Dorian was gripping onto her with white, trembling fingers. She dropped the bow and Dorian let go of her arm as the amulet the Magister had shattered on the tiles. 

Then she lunged forward and punched the magister in the face so hard he fell backwards and cracked his head off the tiles in front of the Arl’s throne.

“Well, that was…” Dorian began, bravado gone. 

“Boss!” Iron Bull called and Maria turned to them. He saw now that the gleam in her eyes wasn’t just hatred and pain, but tears that were caught in her eyelashes. Maker, her lip was swollen too. Varric stepped forward, letting Bianca fall to his side. 

“Varric!” She exclaimed with something that almost sounded like a sob as she wrapped his arms around his neck and buried her face in his neck. She was trembling, badly. “I’m sorry.” She whispered. “I’m so sorry.” 

“What in Maker’s name just happened?” Blackwall demanded, staring at them from his position flanking Sera. 

“Cuff the Magister or something, Bull.” Varric pointed his chin towards the prone figure as his son checked for a pulse. “C’mon Princess, it can’t be that bad.” Varric soothed, rubbing a small circle on her back. 

“It… it can.” Dorian answered, looking several shades too pale. “Trust me, my friend, it can.” 

“I’ll be alright.” Maria mumbled, pulling back and scrubbing her face with the back of her hand. “Maker, it is good to see you.” Her eyes roamed around the room, lighting on everyone once. “All of you, in one piece.” 

“You punched that arsehole right in his arsehole.” Sera was gleeful. “It was sexy! Do it again!” 

“I’ll see Fenris again, y’know. Someday.” Varric said softly as he grinned. “Wait until I tell him. He may deign to shake your hand. He may even write to Orzammar and demand they make you a Paragon. Punching a magister. It was glorious.” 

“Leave out the tears if you write about it, okay?” She asked, smiling. “And the chunks of demon I have stuck in my hair.” 

“The chunks of demon in your hair make you relatable.” Varric protested. This got a laugh, a real one, but it didn’t quite erase the shadows in her eyes. 

“Your worship! We have company!” An agent called, just seconds before soldiers marched in, followed by a tall man with blonde hair and…

“Shit.” Varric mumbled, quickly brushing his hand through her long locks and dislodging a bit of slime. “That’s the King.” He whispered. 

“Grand Enchanter!” Alistair called. “Imagine my surprise when I found out you’d given Redcliffe castle to a Tevinter Magister. It was particularly alarming concerning I checked my records and Redcliffe Castle definitely belongs to Arl Teagan.” 

“Your Majesty, we did not intend…” Fiona approached, wringing her hands. 

“I know what you intended. I wanted to help you, but you’ve made it impossible.” Alistair glared at her coldly, before looking around. His eyes met Varric’s and Alistair groaned. “Please don’t tell me  _ she’s _ involved in this.” 

“Ah, no. Nowhere near it.” Varric grinned. “May I introduce the Herald of Andraste, Maria Cadash? Heiress to the Cadash family business, closer of rifts, and puncher of said Tevinter Magisters?” 

Alistair’s expression brightened as he looked to the Qunari tying up the magister with curtain sashes. “You punched him? Wonderful. I’ve always appreciated a woman who could throw a good punch.” 

“Thank you, your Majesty.” Maria dropped into a small, awkward curtsy. 

“Your Majesty, we have hundreds who need protection. Where will we go?” Fiona pleaded. Maria coughed a bit into her fist. 

“I did come here for mages. There’s still a hole in the sky and a glowing mark on my hand. I’d like them both gone.” She held out her palm in explanation. 

“On what terms are these?” Fiona demanded shrilly.

“Hopefully better terms than what Alexius offered. The inquisition is better than that, no?” Dorian pondered. 

“Better terms or not, you’ll take them.” Alistair menaced. “And leave Ferelden.”

Everyone was looking at Maria, waiting for her to make a decision. And it was completely illogical, a month ago she’d been in chains, before that simply running a criminal organization. Varric couldn’t think of anyone better to make this decision, though. “I’ve known mages. They’ve been my friends. They’re good people, prone to life ruining mistakes like all other people, but they deserve a chance.” Varric said gently. Hawke, he thought, facing down the Arishok. Daisy standing in front of a mirror. Anders looking so angry as he scribbled over his manifesto. All of them and Fenris, Aveline, Isabela, Sebastian clustered around his table, cards and cups everywhere. Laughter ringing through the air as Hawke shimmied out of her tunic with her losing hand spread before her. Fenris and Anders tried not to stare and Daisy conjured flowers to cover her naked skin. Isabela complained that it was cheating. 

“I read your book.” It was so quiet he almost didn’t hear her, couldn’t be sure she’d said it all, because she was looking at Fiona now and smiling brilliantly. “An alliance, between the Inquisition and the mages to close the breach and make Thedas safe.” 

“Will the inquisition honor it?” Fiona asked skeptically. Maria took a deep breath. 

“Yes.” She answered simply, eyes burning. “They will.” 

 

Maria had steeled herself for a fight with Cassandra that never came. The most dissent came from Vivienne, who haughtily complained for thirty minutes that allowing a dwarf of all things to solve the problem was outrageous. “After what she went through, I very well think she’s the best to make a decision about dangerous magic.” Dorian had interrupted the tirade defensively. 

That had led to a description of what the two of them had actually went through, an apocalyptic future filled with red lyrium, demons, blood magic, and death. 

“What happened to us, yeah?” Sera asked, crossing her skinny arms over her chest. “I bet I shot ‘em full of arrows.” 

Dorian and Maria paused, looking at each other uncertainly. “I’m sorry Sera.” Maria began. “You...died to give us a chance to get out. We had to leave you behind.” 

“It wasn’t real though, right?” Sera said cheerfully. “Not really real.”

“Seemed real enough.” Maria said glumly, standing. “I need to wash out...this demon shit out of my hair.” 

“I’ll accompany you.” Cassandra offered. Maria didn’t fight her as she led the way to the nearby stream, pausing only to grab a bag full of soap and all that sweet smelling junk women couldn’t live without. 

“Shall I come too?” Dorian asked, eyes glimmering brightly. “I can scrub your back.” 

Cassandra scoffed, but Maria just smiled wearily. 

“Some other time.” She said, patting his shoulder affectionately as she passed. Varric’s eyes lingered on her fingers, then trailed to her figure as she walked away just a second too long because when he tore them away he met Iron Bull’s knowing smirk.

“Redheads, right?” Bull chuckled appreciatively.

They spent the night in camp with watch duty divided by the Bull’s Chargers. Slowly, members of the inquisition returned to their bed rolls as the fire died down. Conversations slowly ended, except for the hushed small talk between the chargers. Cassandra’s breathing was steady on his left, asleep almost as soon as her head hit the pillow. On his right, Maria was buried into the blankets, only the top of her head barely visible in the dying firelight. Beside her, Solas was stretched out quietly. 

Varric fell in and out of sleep, as he usually did when camped in this spectacularly awful thing called nature. There was almost certainly a rock digging into his arse and he swore he could see bears foraging in the woods nearby. Not to mention the noise of thousands of crickets so loud he could barely hear himself sleep. He stared miserably up at the stars, longingly thinking of his bed back in Kirkwall. It hadn’t been perfect, and he’d spent many a night in his armchair as a drunk human or elf slept it off under his watchful eye, but it’d been home. 

He almost didn’t hear the whimper or the choked gasp. He propped himself up on one elbow when he did, letting the blanket fall from his bare chest and trying to pinpoint the sound. It took a moment for him to realize, shockingly, the noise was coming from Maria’s blankets. The only thing more surprising would have been it coming from Cassandra’s. He reached his hand out, tentatively, toward the bed roll. “Maria.” He whispered. 

“She is dreaming.” Solas answered, scaring the piss out of Varric. “A side effect of the mark, I’m afraid. The first dwarf to walk the fade.”

“This isn’t a dream, Chuckles.” Varric responded bitterly. He knew nightmares, despite not having them himself. He’d watched Hawke tangle herself up in her sheets after her mother’s murder, he’d heard Fenris pacing and swearing late at night. 

“Nightmares can teach us much if we let them.” Solas advised. No they can’t, Varric thought. They were only preventing her from getting the rest she deserved. Varric gripped Maria’s shoulder gently, shaking her.

Her knew she’d woken when she froze, stiff as a board. He could feel her pulse hammering through her soft, warm skin and the flush of heat radiating from her. “It’s alright, Princess.” He soothed. Her muscles loosened and she rolled toward him, her arms circling his neck. Varric moved instinctively, sitting up and pulling her to him as she buried her face into his neck. Andraste’s knickers, he could smell her and she smelled perfect. Her damp hair smelled like lavender and citrus and was so soft and cool against his shoulder. She trembled with emotion in his arms and Varric could feel her breasts pressing against his bare chest, the curve of her hip against his… and he couldn’t think about that anymore or he was going to make things very, very awkward. Instead, he pushed her hair from her face with one hand, stroking up and down the line of her spine with the other. Just one piece of thin cotton between his hand and her creamy skin…

“You died.” She whispered. “You died, they all died, my sister died, and I couldn’t stop it. I let you all die for me.” 

“Just a dream, Princess.” Varric murmured into her hair, feeling it against his chin as he ducked his head. “We’re all here, promise.” 

“But it was real. I saw it.” Her fingers gripped into his bare arm. “I was there.” 

“Now you’re not.” Varric replied just as adamantly, his eyes flicking to Solas, who was sitting as well staring mournfully at Maria’s back. “Can’t you do something?” Varric demanded.

“I’m afraid you are already doing the best thing we can do.” Solas answered cryptically as Varric continued to run his fingers up and down Maria’s back. “My friend, it was only a trick of the fade. You are awake now.”

Solas’s voice pulled her back and he could feel her putting the pieces of herself back together, reassembling the face she showed to the inquisition. Her fingers squeezed his arm again, just a moment. “Maker.” She laughed, throatily and only half-joking. “Your muscles have muscles. That crossbow must be heavier than it looks.” 

Varric chuckled as well and allowed her to pull back, feeling the empty cold night air against his skin. “Just don’t make me start carrying logs now that you know my secret.” 

“No promises, Tethras.” Maria murmured as she collapsed back into her blankets. The bed roll was even closer to him now, so close he could still smell her hair. She settled back down, eyes fixed on the stars. “Thank you, both of you.” 

“Anything to help, Herald.” Solas responded politely. His breathing settled back to sleep quickly, but Varric and Maria both stayed awake and silent, watching the stars fade and pink creep into  the sky. 

 

“There will be abominations.” Cullen threatened, indicating the mages that had spread evenly all over Haven. “We don’t have the manpower…”

“Cullen, I’m taking you seriously, I promise, but don’t abominations  _ look _ a bit like abominations?” Maria questioned, eyes glinting with humor. “I think we’ll all notice them.”

“Not always.” Cullen shot a glare at Varric that Varric refused to acknowledge. 

“I’ll keep you safe, Commander.” Maria’s voice was laced with giggles. Beatrix looked up from her blades, grinning wickedly. 

“I’ll be his bodyguard. I’m sure it’s a hard job but…” She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. Both women descended into laughter as Cullen tried to master his reddening face. 

“Cadash, this is not a laughing matter!” Cullen protested. 

“Oh, you must be angry if I’m Cadash now instead of Herald. How angry do I have to make you before you use my first name?” Maria asked in mock seriousness. Cullen’s shoulders collapsed in resignation. 

“Fine. I will do my best to ensure vigilance.” Cullen grumbled. 

“Please don’t antagonize them until after we close the hole in the sky.” Maria requested sincerely, gray eyes widening. 

“Then we best close the hole in the sky sooner than later.” Cullen responded, fingers tightening on his sword hilt. “I will escort the chosen mages to the temple, Herald.” 

Maria inclined her head in gratitude as Cullen stormed off. “You shouldn’t antagonize Curly.” Varric admonished. 

“He makes it far too easy.” Beatrix admitted as her eyes followed the retreating commander. “Especially when it’s such a pleasure to see him storm off.” 

“You’re going to kill him, Mittens.” Varric advised. Bea rolled her eyes and shrugged, stretching out her legs. 

“I’m going with you.” Bea demanded petulantly as Maria sat up. “Last time you abandoned me here…”

“It can hardly be called abandonment, I couldn’t find you because you were holed up with some scout.” Maria interrupted reasonably. 

“You came back with this crazy bullshit story about time travel.” Bea finished with a haughty glare. “I want to see the real story this time.” 

“You’ll listen to Cassandra and Cullen, then.” Maria advised, holding up a hand as Bea began to argue. “I mean it Bea, or I’m having the Iron Bull tie you up.” 

“Fine.” The woman huffed. “Here, take this before we go.” Bea was undoing the sheath at her waist, a match for the one her sister wore. 

“I have the same exact dagger already, Bea. Remember?” Maria said sadly as she watched Bea’s quick fingers undo the knots holding the belt on. “It’s a matching set.” 

“I’m only letting you borrow mine.” Bea remarked. “For luck, right?” The deft fingers reached around Maria’s waist, attaching the belt so it lay against Maria’s other hip from the dagger she usually wore. “I’ll want it back, after.” She said sternly. 

“Of course.” Maria leaned forward to press her lips against her younger sister’s cheek. “Let’s go.” 

The hike back to the temple ruins was a much better experience than the last time they’d fought their way up. First off, no demons raining from the sky. Iron Bull grumbled about the lost opportunity, but Varric could detect an edge of relief as they trudged up the path. Maria laughed at something Dorian said, her head tipped toward him while his hands gestured wildly. Beatrix walked beside her, twirling her brown curls around gloved fingers and examining their ends with a wry smile. 

“You are...close to her, yes?” Cassandra asked Varric awkwardly. “The Herald considers you a friend.”  

“It’s because of my charming and irresistible personality.” Varric quipped, hiding his smile as Cassandra sighed in disgust. 

“Has she confided what she will do after?” Cassandra pressed. “Her sister is demanding she return to the Free Marches, but she may have been called to something greater.” 

“Shit, seeker. Divine callings are beyond my purview.” Varric admitted. “You’d do better to ask her yourself.” 

“She does not always appreciate my interference.” Cassandra offered. It was Varric’s turn to snort. 

“Seeker, let’s just close the sky first and worry about the future tomorrow.” Varric met Cassandra’s gaze and she nodded, setting her jaw. 

Cullen and the Grand Enchanter had the mages settled in a semi-circle facing the breach. Their group grew quiet as they filtered into the temple. “Herald.” Cullen greeted tightly. “The mages await your command.” 

“Right, no pressure.” Maria joked weakly, removing her glove. The glowing green mark was revealed and pulsed brightly in response to the breach above them. 

“Is this safe?” Bea asked, touching Maria’s elbow. 

“Don’t worry, we’ll take care of your sister.” Cullen reassured kindly. Bea looked anything but reassured as Cassandra rested a gauntlet on the woman’s shoulder and Maria was led forward like an offering to be sacrificed. Her strides were confident, assured. 

“I don’t like this, Seeker.” Varric muttered, hefting Bianca into his hands. “Last time we messed with this thing we ended up with a huge ass pride demon.” 

“It is in the Maker’s hands.” Cassandra replied. 

“Reassuring.” Bea answered, frowning. “Maker, it’s huge this close up.” 

Varric watched as Maria approached, holding her hand out. There was tense silence as the grand enchanter and Cullen barked orders. Maria’s hand began to spark and she spared one look over her shoulder for them. Well, perhaps it was for all of them, but to Varric in that moment, it felt like it was just for him as she grinned reassuringly and the energy began to flow. 

And then the breach was gone with a sound like thunder and Maria was lowering her hand, flushed and pleased. Cheers went up around them and Bea launched herself out of Cassandra’s grip with a whoop of excitement, landing firmly in Maria’s grasp as Cassandra let out a great sigh of relief. Maria’s arms squeezed her sister, and when she looked back at their group, Varric knew that her small, satisfied smile was just for him. 

 

Someone had brought out a fiddle and the music floated headily around the fire accompanied by the sounds of clinking glasses and off key singing. All Varric could smell was woodsmoke and ale. He was leaning against the tavern and observing the dancers, one more than the others if he was being completely honest. Bea had braided Maria’s hair up into small buns on each side of her head and someone had bestowed a wreath of daisies that had been scavenged from Maker knows where to sit on her cockeyed on top her head. She still wore her leathers, but she’d returned the borrowed dagger to her sister and her bow was forgotten near Varric. 

Maria twisted in time with the rhythm, her hands clasped tightly in her sister’s as they pulled apart and came together, laughing in abandon with their heads tipped back. Maria’s gray eyes caught the flickering light of the fire and reflected them back at the assembled members of the inquisition as the music stopped and they came to a rest, catching their breath. People clapped and stomped their feet as the dancers bowed. Bea leaned close, whispering something in Maria’s ear before she disappeared into the crowd. 

Before anyone else could descend to claim the Herald, Varric was there. He held out his hand with a little bow. “My turn, Princess?” He asked with a quirk of his eyebrow and a wicked grin of his own. Maria’s eyes sparkled as she took his hand when the music started again, allowing him to pull her close. 

“I imagine this is a very different dancing than the Merchant’s Guild does.” Maria drawled. “Think you can keep up, Tethras?” 

“Company’s better too.” Varric grinned. “Much less…” 

“Priggish? Pompous? Stuffy?” Maria supplied helpfully as Varric twirled her away from him and then tugged her back again, her hand resting over the silk shirt, dangerously near bare skin. His own hand dropped to her waist, right where her hip flared out. 

“Whereas current company is positively scandalous and disreputable for a religious figure.” Varric teased. She swatted at his chest lightly as she laughed, positively melting into his arms. 

“Maybe you should tell everyone else.” She pressed against him, tipping her head up just enough to peer at him from beneath her thick eyelashes. “I’ll need some way to escape this religious movement I accidentally started.” 

“Kirkwall is always looking for additional notorious residents.” Varric offered as they spun, his hand trailing even lower down her hip. “I know a pirate captain who loves trouble and wouldn’t mind smuggling you out if we get to a port.” 

Something seared in her beautiful eyes and it lit something on fire in Varric. She slowed, tipping her head up more. Varric leaned in, grip tightening on her waist. 

“Am I interupting?” Bea asked cheerfully, a grin as wicked as her sister’s on her face. “Sorry, I’m back with that ale if you still want some.” 

Varric and Maria both pulled back quickly, hastily turning to Beatrix. Without thinking, Varric rubbed his face with the back of his hand and Maria reached out for the mug Bea was holding. Bea pulled it back with a smirk and inclined her head up toward the chantry. “First, you should go see that gloomy Seeker. She’s looking for you.” 

“Fine.” Maria snapped impatiently, taking the mug and disappearing up the stairs without touching it. 

“Is that dancing only reserved for my sister?” Bea asked idly, pulling a wicked blade from the sheath at her back and examining the gleaming edge dispassionately. 

“I’d be more than willing to dance with the Herald’s charming and deadly younger sister.” Varric offered gamely. 

“As long as you remember the deadly part, it’ll all be good.” Bea threatened, fixing her hair in the metal’s reflection before looking up cooly. “I know all about you Tethras. The whole Carta knows all about you and your reputation. If you get my sister caught up in Guild...bullshit, I’ll be very angry.” 

“Noted.” Varric answered wryly. “Would you like to dance?” 

“I thought you’d never ask.” Bea sheathed her dagger, offering her hands. “Try not to fall onto my face too.” 

They’d barely been dancing, he’d barely had a chance to muse on the fact that Bea felt different from her sister in his grasp. Then there were alarm bells and the music fell abruptly silent. Cassandra and Maria raced down the steps, Maria pausing only long enough to grab her bow and toss her quiver over her shoulder. 

“Fuck.” Bea swore, pulling away. “Fuck it all.” 


	19. Red Corruption

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris and Hawke find an army on their doorstep. Fenris reacts badly to red lyrium.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW at the very beginning of the chapter

 

Hawke was using a pestle to grind elfroot down at the broad table, swearing cheerfully as she did so. Fenris had a cipher out and the letter from Warden Stroud, but he hadn’t made too much progress on translating it. He was far more fascinated by watching Hawke work, her small clever fingers breaking leaves from stems, mixing ingredients, and squeezing berries. Her fingers were stained blue from her efforts. She had learned, she said, from her father. Despite living in a farming community, the Hawkes weren’t farmers. Leandra had tended a small vegetable patch and herb garden and they’d owned a goat and a few chickens, but their main trade had been medicine. Hawke’s father had been wise in this regard, acting as a village doctor. Hawke had claimed impatience with the whole process, but Fenris had never seen her purchase remedies from elsewhere. 

“You’re staring at me.” She accused with a sly grin. “Do I have berries on my nose?” 

“Yes.” Fenris answered honestly. “And your cheek.”

Hawke laughed brightly. They were still in the same cabin, waiting for word from Carver, waiting for this response from Stroud. They couldn’t risk moving and missing an important missive. “Have you made any progress?” She indicated the parchment and Fenris nodded.

“A bit. It seems Stroud fears for corruption in the Wardens. I’ve yet to see if he describes the specifics or if he has any information regarding red lyrium.” Fenris answered, raising his fingers to brush at a blue smudge on Hawke’s cheek. “It is difficult to concentrate with all the noise you are making.”

“Well, if you think you can do it quieter…” Hawke began tartly, but stopped suddenly, eyes drawn to the front door. Fenris tensed, standing as Hawke did so. She strode to the doorway and flung it open, staring into the sky and then laughing again, louder. “Fenris, look.” 

Fenris joined her, tension easing as her warm smile spread over her face and Lucia ran out from behind her into the yard with a joyful bark. 

“It is gone.” He observed. “Perhaps Varric’s inquisition was successful?” 

“I’m sure Varric would love to hear it described as his inquisition.” Hawke commented dryly. “I should write to him, congratulate them. He’ll want to tell the story.” 

Fenris wrapped his arms around Hawke’s waist from behind her, holding her close to his chest. “Will the nightmares be gone?” He asked quietly. 

“They won’t be as bad, no.” Hawke reasoned, reaching her hand up to cup his cheek. “We can try letting you sleep tonight without those herbs and see what happens. Maybe we can all get back to normal now, hm? The villagers said the Inquisitor recruited the rebel mages to do this work. Maybe I’m not a wanted woman now.” 

“We can always hope.” Fenris replied, kissing her temple. “You would still return to Kirkwall?” 

“It was home, wasn’t it?” Hawke asked, smiling softly. 

“You are my home.” The words were immediate and Hawke melted in his arms as he said them, turning to face him and wrapping her arms around his neck. Her fingers, tinged blue, tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck and tugged him down to kiss her gently. 

“Now how can I resist you when you’re like this?” Hawke asked, gently coaxing him back inside. 

“We still need to read this letter from Stroud.” Fenris protested, a chuckle in his throat as Hawke pushed him gently into his chair. She was in his lap immediately, hands running up his sides, fingertips coasting along the lyrium in his skin. 

“Later.” She whispered into his ear with a kiss on his pointed lobe that made him shudder. “I think we should celebrate the return to normal, yes?” 

Fenris groaned, letting his head drop onto her shoulder as her tongue played up his ear and she pushed his shirt over his head.

“Later.” He repeated against her heated skin, kissing down her sloping shoulder as his hands wandered to her skirt and found their way underneath the material. “Much later.” 

It was Hawke’s turn to laugh as she pulled her own shirt off and Fenris lifted himself off the chair, tightening his grip around her waist and carrying her to the bed where they fell in a tangle of pale limbs and tanned flesh and Fenris kissed his way down her body, removing the offending skirt. Hawke’s body arched toward him off the sheets with an impatient whimper as he traced his fingers back up her sides, up to the breasts she’d left unbound this morning and their hard nipples, aching and wanting. 

“I want to see you...” Fenris began, then stopped unsure. 

“See me?” Hawke asked, breathless and flushed already. 

“See you...touch yourself. Your own breasts.” Fenris admitted. Hawke smirked that maddeningly little tip of her lips. 

“Fenris… what else have you been thinking of?” She asked, but her hands were already complying, cupping her full breasts for him, brushing her fingers against her stiff nipples. Fenris’s eyes couldn’t stray from those clever, deft fingers (stained blue, of course) as they rubbed and pinched lightly, causing Hawke to moan louder. Fenris leaned down and kissed her pale, creamy thigh in encouragement. He could feel himself straining as Hawke mewed her need. 

“You are beautiful.” He admired her, the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed, the flush of her skin and her black hair spread against the white sheets. His fingers traced up her slit, already wet for him and she pressed back against him. Fenris brought his fingers back to his lips and licked her taste from them. She tasted of honey and vanilla, Maker, she was delicious. She looked at him through hooded eyes, breath coming quicker as he tasted before he grinned and lowered his head to her womanhood, letting his breath warm her before he let his tongue flick out and collect the moisture gather there. 

“Fenris…” Hawke called out, needy and desperate as he ran the flat of tongue against her folds once, twice, before parting them with his fingers and delving deeper, causing her hips to levitate off the bed. Fenris moaned as well, bringing his lips to that sensitive bundle of nerves and dancing along it, causing her to twist up before he dipped back to her dripping core. Hawke’s fist pounded helplessly on the bed and he reached up to catch it, entwining their fingers together. I love you, he thought as helpless as she felt as he drove her to pleasure. As it crested, Hawke squeezed his fingers and moaned, panting and crying out his name. As she finished, Fenris slid up her body. Her other hand grasped his cheek, pushing his hair from his eyes. 

“I love you.” She whispered as he pulled his trousers down. “Fenris, I love you.” 

“I love you.” He whispered back as he slid into her velvet sheath, entwining their fingers again. “I love you.” He took her slowly, leisurely, allowing their pleasure to build. And then they shattered apart together, in each other’s arms. 

 

They dozed the rest of the afternoon until hunger convinced Fenris to move. He shifted Hawke’s weight as she complained sleepily and stood, throwing his trousers back on and opening the door. Lucia was outside, chewing on a bone and looked up with a wag of her tail. He allowed her back in and she settled on the bed with Hawke as he took stock of their food stocks, pulling out some cured meat and potatoes. 

“Stew?” Hawke asked, opening her eyes and pinning him with her gaze. 

“Stew.” Fenris confirmed. “Are you hungry, amata?” 

“Starving.” Hawke stretched like a cat, the sheet falling away from her body. She sat up with a yawn, reaching for her blouse. As she shrugged it on, Lucia stood and tipped her head inquisitively, listening. 

“What is it, girl?” Hawke asked, stroking the silky nose of the mabari. “Rabbits? Pigeons?” 

Slowly, the mabari sank into a crouch, her hackles raising as a low growl rumbled in her throat. Hawke pulled her hand back quickly and shot a worried look to Fenris. Fenris threw the food down, reaching for his sword. “Get dressed.” Fenris ordered as he slipped silently to the door, opening it a crack and straining his ears. He could hear, distantly, the clank of metal and marching feet. Soldiers? 

“An army.” Fenris explained for Hawke’s benefit as she pulled on her skirt. “Why not use the main roads? Why march through the woods?”

“They don’t want to be seen?” Hawke guessed. “How close?” 

“Too close, but perhaps they will pass by.” Fenris mused. Hawke snapped her fingers and the fire in the grate was doused. With a gesture, Lucia fell silent as they waited, breaths held. Fenris counted the seconds, then the minutes. It was like a never ending parade without any of the joy. Finally, the marching became less loud as the tail end of the group passed, then descended into stragglers. Fenris allowed himself a breath of relief before he heard voices and his head shot up. Hawke heard them as well and was reaching for her staff as the door shuddered violently in front of Fenris, a gauntleted hand thumping it loudly. Fenris held up a hand to still Reyna before slowly pulling open the door, his sword hidden in his other hand. 

“A knife-ear in the woods!” The man exclaimed, in heavy armor. Templar armor. There were four others behind him with the same armor, but something was...wrong. Very wrong. They seemed to be glowing...red. His lyrium markings were itching all over and his shoulders tensed at the slur. 

“Can I help you?” Fenris asked, moving his body to occupy the door fully and block the darkened interior from view. 

“We need food.” Another templar jeered. “We’ll take whatever you have.” 

“A moment, then.” Fenris acquiesced, feeling slightly sickened. “I will bring it outside.” 

“Oy, what ya hidin’ in there, knife-ear?” Another templar asked with a loud laugh that echoed wrongly in the air. “A woman? We’ll take her too.” 

“Wait! This knife-ear is familiar… what’s the name of that one in the book about the apostate whore?” The last templar asked. Damn Varric to the void, Fenris thought as he took a step back, swinging the sword out in front of him and plunging it into the waiting neck of the first templar before the others could react. Blood gushed onto the door jamb and he felt the pull of Hawke’s mana and ducked to avoid the blast of flame that launched over his head into the face of the second. He slammed out the door into the open air where he was able to move. Lucia was on his heels, then on the templar who was clutching his melting helmet. Her jaws closed around his arm as he reached for his sword and Fenris heard a ripping sound. Fenris swung his blade around, catching another templar in the breastplate and sending him staggering, just in time for frost to spring up around his ankles and anchor him in place. “Lucia!” She called and the dog turned to the new target, lunging with enough force to break the man’s frozen ankles. Three down, two to… 

There was the fourth and fifth, the fifth cranking a crossbow and the fourth lunging at him, but not with a blade. To his dawning horror, Fenris realized the man was lunging toward him with his arm, or what had been his arm. Whatever this had been, was now glowing, poisonous, and wicked sharp red lyrium. The other templar was aiming his crossbow at the door of their cabin where Reyna stood, channeling flames into the templar who was trying to stick his sword into Lucia’s side after he’d fallen. “Hawke!” Fenris called desperately, but she wouldn’t be fast enough to dodge. Fenris knew this. If he had been wearing his plate, if he had been prepared this wouldn’t have mattered. As it was, he only had one choice. He weaved past the swinging templar, felt the sickly red lyrium graze over his bare ribs. Just a gash, Fenris thought as the pain struck him violently. Hawke would fix it easily. His hand struck through the other templar’s breast plate and grasped his heart, the diseased, fevered thing falling quickly to his strength. The templar he had left behind him screamed and Fenris could see an inferno raging out of the corner of his eye as he pulled back from the corpse, letting it fall in front of him. His hand went to his ribs immediately, feeling the warm blood squishing through his fingers. 

Maker, his side was on fire. It was getting worse, causing his vision to blur. He felt the lyrium lines in his skin thrumming, vibrating as if they’d rip themselves out of his flesh. He felt the scream leave his throat as he fell to the ground himself, shaking. A dog was howling and…

Danarius was pouring the lyrium into his oozing cuts and he was manacled to a table and begging for it to stop. 

“Fenris!” He heard someone scream, but it felt so far away. The pain was too much, too great. “You’ll be alright.” He heard someone mumble, panicked. “It’ll be alright, amatus.” the voice was so quiet, and he screamed again, before the darkness took him. 

 

He couldn’t tell time anymore, couldn’t count days. Everything was pain, like his bones had all been shattered one by one with a mallet. He didn’t know where he was, only that he was desperately thirsty and that he was slowly, painfully dying.

Sometimes, he thought he was back in the blue room of Danarius’s mansion. That room with its intricate carved woodwork, the constellations painted in gold on the ceiling, and the blood stained table in the middle of the floor, over a drain for easy clean up. Such a beautiful room to die in, he’d thought several times as Danarius perfected his marks. And he’d prayed to the Maker for death, to spare him. But the Maker doesn’t listen to slaves, his only hope had been to beg his Master. And he did, begged for the pain to stop. He begged now, his vision blurry and whole body trembling. He felt cool liquid poured down his throat and he sipped it, grateful for the small courtesy. His cracked, useless lips tumbled praises for his master’s mercy and hot splashes of salty liquid fell on his face, brushed away quickly.

“You are not a slave.” A voice whispered. The words were familiar, the voice was familiar. It reminded him of soft things, red covers over a large bed, wine on his tongue and his stomach full of good things. Cards on a table, laughter tinkling like bells and a smile like sin. The most beautiful blue eyes Fenris had ever seen. But no - those things were not  real. A fever dream, he thought desperately, the last hopes and wishes of a dying slave. Then thoughts were gone as the pain redoubled and he shook and screamed until he was hoarse. 

He thought when he awoke he was chained in Hadriana’s room and she stood above him with a cruel smirk. “Stop.” He pleaded, the manacles digging into his skin. “Why are you doing this?” 

“Because I can.” She answered, then sent magic spiraling through his markings, lighting them on fire. This was her favorite torment, with no marks for Danarius to complain about. She laughed, the sound harsh and unnaturally loud in the small space. Her hand fisted in his hair and held his eyes to hers as the pain subsided. “Next time you’ll be faster, yes?” Then the agony began again, building slowly and redoubling as he begged for mercy. 

“Fenris…” Her eyes were suddenly sad then, and the brightest blue in Hadriana’s face. Fenris shook his head desperately, the pain was too great without this added torture. He squeezed his eyes shut and he endured. 

There were lash marks bleeding down his back and Fenris could not reach to take care of them. He could feel the blood oozing and the pain of his torn flesh sent tremors down his flesh. He tried to be still, to stop the pain from spreading as someone approached. He wasn’t afraid, he knew those steps. She drew in a gasp, then let it all out, but her voice shook as she came closer. “Oh, Leto…” She said softly as she came into view, her red hair braided and falling over her shoulder as she knelt before him, tears in her big green eyes when she gently took his hands. “You should not have…” 

“I will bear it.” His voice answered, terse with pain. “We’ll clean it up before mother sees.” 

“Yes.” Varania said softly, his unmarked skin tan against hers. Her fingers were glowing, the lightest blue. “Let me do what I can.” 

“Leave the marks or they’ll know and it will be for nothing.” He ordered. Varania swallowed tightly and nodded, a tear falling down her cheek that Fenris (no, Leto) brushed away. “I’ll protect you, Varania.” He swore. 

 

Weak sunlight streamed through the paper covered windows. Fenris stirred, feeling weak as a newborn kitten. His whole body felt stiff and tender, like he’d been beaten for days straight. He tried to move his arms, but they felt like lead, clumsy and heavy. He turned his head instead, taking in his surroundings. At first he didn’t know this place, but then he did. It was a fishing hut they’d used twice that was on the shore of Lake Calenhad. Hawke didn’t like it because she could see the empty circle tower jutting out miles from shore. Her parents would never have liked being so close to it, she’d explained. How did he get here? Where was…

There she was, looking absolutely exhausted and eyes glaze over as she stared at the table, lost in thought, picking dirt from under her nails. There were dark shadows under her eyes and her hair was twisted up in a bun with bedraggled strands falling lose. Something heavy shifted at the bottom of the bed and Fenris looked down at a pair of bright brown eyes that were looking at him mournfully. Fenris attempted to shift up, but the movement brought a stab of pain to his side and he gasped in surprise, breath drawn into a low hiss. 

“Stop!” Hawke ordered, standing suddenly, blue eyes boring into him. “You’ll rip it back open, again.” 

Fenris froze, sinking back into the bed and catching his breath. Hawke stood where she was, eyes glimmering faintly with hope. “Are you...are you really awake? Do you know who I am this time?” 

This time? Fenris repeated her words in his head, puzzled. The expression on his face caused her eyes to dim sadly and Fenris rushed out the words. “Hawke. Reyna Hawke.” He answered quickly. “Reyna.” He repeated softly as she covered her mouth with a shaking hand. “What happened?” He asked. 

“It’s been four days.” Hawke’s voice shook into her hand. “You’ve been almost dead for four days. Maker, you didn’t even know… you thought…” Tears sprung into Hawke’s eyes and Fenris struggled to sit up, slowly this time. She was at his side in a moment, holding him down. She shouldn’t have been able to, he was much stronger, but he felt so weak… “You thought you were back in Tevinter. Shit, you thought I them and I was hurting you. I  _ had _ to hurt you. Maker, I thought  _ I _ was going to kill you trying to save you.” Tears were falling down her face now and she wiped them away with the back of her hand. 

“It wasn’t that bad, it was only a gash.” Fenris repeated, thinking to the blow he’d taken to stop the crossbow. “I remember.” 

“It was poison!” Hawke exclaimed. “Fenris, it  _ poisoned _ you, it tried to corrupt all this damn lyrium.” She gestured at his skin, frustrated. “I couldn’t heal it… I kept pouring energy into it and it kept trying to spread. I had to… I had to cut some of the lyrium out, what had touched the red stuff. In the middle of a battlefield, and I still thought I was too late…” She broke down into sobs then, sinking to her knees by the bed. “I nearly lost you.” She whispered, burying her head into the sheets near his arm. 

“You cut them out?” Fenris repeated, dumbfounded. “The lyrium?” He moved his fingers, slowly, down his ribs until he felt gauze stretched over his ribs, a patch larger than his palm.

“I had to, the red stuff was spreading.” She explained through her sobs. Lucia gently padded off the bed and onto the floor, placing her large head on Hawke’s shoulder. “I didn’t know what I was doing… when I started, I had to fight against whatever the fuck blood magic Danarius used to make it stick. I had to keep healing you. You spiked a fever and you were still in so much pain… I thought maybe the magic he used was finally killing you. I’ve been trying to keep you alive ever since. Yesterday evening was the first day I thought… I thought you may make it. I was convinced you were dying.” 

“I am alive, Reyna.” Fenris said gently, covering her hand with his own. “I am well.” 

“Barely.” Hawke sobbed. 

“How did we get here?” Fenris prodded. Hawke choked down a hysterical laugh.

“I couldn’t risk… the red templars coming back when I’d poured all my mana and exhausted all our lyrium and healing potions. I stole a cart and a horse from the village and came straight here. It took two days, but I couldn’t think of anywhere closer but Haven and…” 

“The Seekers are at Haven.” Fenris said. Hawke laughed harshly, eyes dimming again. 

“No, void take the seekers. I’d have gone there if I could, I was going to. To save you, let them take me. Anything.” She responded. “But...that’s where the army was going. I heard...yesterday from a fisher that it’s gone. Haven’s gone. An avalanche took the town, all of its inhabitants, and most of the templar army.”

Fenris felt a lump rise in his throat as he whispered one word. “Varric?” 

Hawke burst into tears again as an answer, shoulders heaving as she clutched Fenris’s hand. She continued to sob as Fenris closed his eyes, feeling the burn in his throat. 


	20. In Your Heart Shall Burn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maria Cadash nearly perishes in the attack on Haven. Varric makes a decision.

 

_ Then the Maker said: _ __   
_ To you, My second-born, I grant this gift: _ __   
_ In your heart shall burn _ _   
_ __ An unquenchable flame

 

By the time they were at the gate, Maria was talking to a lad who was panicked, indicating the corpses of templars on the ground and blathering about an elder one. “Easy…” Maria soothed, as the boy pointed above them at a creature that looked...disturbingly familiar flanked by a templar that also looked quite familiar. 

“The elder one?” Cullen repeated as they stared up at the advancing army. 

“He’s very angry you took his mages.” The boy said. “Very angry.”  

It couldn’t be...Hawke had killed him. Hell, Broody himself had stabbed the corpse through the heart just to be sure. 

“Cullen, please tell me you have a plan.” Maria pleaded. 

“Haven is no fortress. If we are to withstand this assault, we must control the battle. Hit them with everything we have.” He indicated the trebuchets then turned to shout orders. “Mages! You have sanction to engage them! That is Samson, he will not make it easy. Inquisition, with the Herald! For our lives, for all of us!” 

“Sister!” Bea called, rushing to her side. “I’m with you.” 

“The trebuchets must remain clear.” Cassandra readied her shield and sword. “We must help the soldiers.”

Gathering around them now was Vivienne, Solas, Dorian, Sera, Blackwall, and Iron Bull. All of the allies that had been painstakingly recruited over weeks. “Bull, your chargers and you can keep one clear. Sera, Blackwall, and Solas can go with the main inquisition forces. The rest, with me.” Maria swept her hand as Bea, Cassandra, and Vivienne followed. 

Bea was at her sister’s back, knives flashing in a deadly dance Varric had the feeling was well rehearsed. A spinning blade sunk into a templar’s eye as an arrow flew over it’s head. Cassandra’s shield caught pure red lyrium blasted from men turned into monsters. And Varric kept shooting as Vivienne’s flames licked past his face. 

“Herald!” A group of soldiers screamed, overwhelmed. She was there in an instant, felling three men before Varric could turn, melting into the shadows as her sister surged forward. The trebuchet behind them fired to life, letting projectiles fire as they loaded it again, and yet the templars kept coming. 

“I think I’m reconsidering religion.” Bea wiped blood from her face as she sunk her blade in between a man’s rib cage. “Seems a damn bloody business.” 

“If Nanna could see us now.” Maria growled as she strung two arrows into her bow at once, letting them both fly. “Cassandra, cover!” She shouted as she ducked behind the trebuchet and Cassandra’s shield took the blow from a templar. 

“One more shot on that mountain!” Varric called. “It can’t take much more, and…” Bianca let lose another bolt, imbedding itself in the grating of a man’s helmet. The trebuchet fired again, hitting the mountain as they finished the last of the attacking templars. The snow fell down in a mighty wave, burying men alive under tons of rock and snow. Maria cheered and it was joined by all the soldiers around them. 

It was cut short by an unholy screech that made all the hairs on Varric’s neck stand up straight. “Shit.” He swore as a great, large beast soared above them. “Shit.  _ Shit. _ ”

The dragon had to be larger than the whole damn village, and when it opened its mouth flame spewed at one of the trebuchets, Bull and his chargers jumping away just in time as it exploded into shrapnel and flaming bits. Beatrix screamed next to him as several inquisition soldiers burst into flame. Maria pulled her back quickly, her voice rising above the fray. “Fall back!” She ordered. “Fall back!” 

The dragon made another pass, fire falling from the sky as they ran. Varric pushed soldiers ahead of him into the gates, Maria shooting at red templars as the troops retreated. Varric gripped on Maria’s arm, pulling her back. “Come on!” He yelled. “This isn’t the time for damn heroics!” 

Cullen was waiting to close the gates, shouting at them to move as Vivienne and Cassandra rushed in and Varric arrived with the two dwarves on either side. “We need everyone back at the chantry! It’s the only building that may stand against that monster!” He yelled to the troops. 

“Cullen, what can we…” Maria began, but stopped at the dreadful look on Cullen’s face, the bleak drawn face of despair. Varric felt his heart sink to his knees. 

“At this point, just make them work for it.” Cullen said softly as he ran off with the soldiers. Maria stood, swaying and turned to Beatrix. 

“You shouldn’t have come here.” She reached out, her fingers digging into her sisters forearm. “You  _ shouldn’t _ be here. You were  _ safe. _ ” 

“Too late now.” Beatrix pressed her lips into a thin line, wiping her bloody daggers on her leathers. “Let’s make them work for it.” 

Maria straightened, nodding. Their small group began making their way up to the chantry, stopping to fight templars, to pull villagers from burning victories. Everytime, Maria’s eyes grew a bit brighter and Varric felt hope sparking. They could save Sigrun and Flissa, they could save Adan and Minaeve. They could save Threnn and they could save Haven, somehow. If anyone could…

The kid who had arrived with the dire warning was carrying the cleric who kept trying to arrest Maria. “He tried to stop a red templar.” The kid explained softly as he carried the man. “The blade went deep, he’s going to die.”

“What a nice young man.” The cleric coughed, hacking up bright blood as Maria barred the door to the chantry behind them, Beatrix and Cassandra by her side. Vivienne looked a mess, sweaty and covered in ash. 

“Herald!” Cullen called. “Our position is not good. That dragon stole back any time you may have bought us.” 

“An archdemon.” The kid said. “An archdemon looks like that.” 

“Archdemon or no, they’ll kill everyone in Haven.” Cullen finished, shoulders slumping. Maria bit her lip, looking at the door. 

“The elder one doesn’t care about Haven or the people. He only wants to kill the Herald.” The kid said, cradling Chancellor Roderick as he lowered the old man to a chair. 

“Me?” Maria said, shocked. “Andraste’s ass, Cole, why me?” 

“Because you are too bright? I don’t know. He’s too loud.” Cole, the kid, answered. 

“Too loud.. For the love of. Herald, we can only do one thing. Another hit to the mountain and we can bury the force.” Cullen argued. 

“We’re overrun. We’d bury Haven.” Maria pointed out. 

“Herald…” Cullen began, then stopped. “Maria, we’re dying. Most people don’t get to choose how.” 

Shocked silence fell and Maria ran her bloody, scraped hands through her hair. The braids that had been tucked so cleverly up when he danced with her earlier had fallen, strands coming loose and sticking up in a rather unattractive way. He should have kissed her, Varric thought, even though they’d been interrupted. It would have been a good way to end, and damn the consequences. 

“Yes, that will work.” Cole said suddenly, relief in his voice. “Chancellor Roderick knows a way.” 

“The summer pilgrimage...it must be the Maker’s will.” The old man groaned. “I am probably...the only one who didn’t perish at the conclave who knows the way. It’ll take us into the mountains. We can get there from the back of the Chantry.” 

“There’s a way.” Maria repeated, eyes lighting up. “Cullen, we can make it out.” 

“Perhaps...perhaps we can evacuate everyone into the mountains while the force is distracted. Someone will need to stay...to fire the trebuchet.” Cullen and Maria’s eyes locked and Maria nodded, steel set in her jaw.

“It’s me this elder one wants. He won’t follow if I stay.” Maria said. 

“There won’t be enough time, the trebuchet…” Cullen stopped, studying Maria’s face then sighing. “Maker, maybe you’ll surprise it. Find a way. We’ll send a flare when we’re away, Herald.” 

Maria nodded, clasping Cullen’s arm with a wry smile before turning back towards the door, shoulders straight. “I’m coming with you!” Beatrix yelled, knives ready. 

“Bea…” Maria began. 

“No! I know a way. I just need some rope and a lantern and enough time to rig it.” Bea spoke excitedly, eyes flashing. “We’ll set it to fire and give ourselves time to run.” 

“Enough time?” Maria asked skeptically, but Cassandra was already picking up a lantern and Varric was uncoiling rope from beside the chantry doors. 

“We’re coming too, Princess.” Varric started. 

“After all, a proper mage would ensure a chance of success.” Vivienne sniffed as she approached the door. “I will keep them off of you while you work, my dear.” Maria smiled softly. 

“I’d argue more, but Maker, I’d hate to do this alone.” She whispered, unbarring the door. “Let’s go.” 

One working trebuchet, that was all they had left, but that was all they needed. Beatrix knelt in the snow, examining the gears of the siege equipment as red templars approached. “Bea… I’m not sure how much time we can give you.” Maria began, cocking her bow. 

“Enough. I just need enough.” She huffed, pulling the rope from Varric. “Help her!” She pushed him away, eyes so dark in her panic he could hardly see the gray in them. Vivienne held the lantern aloft and loomed over the dwarf while Cassandra rushed the opposing forces. Varric took his position next to Maria, readying Bianca. “Ready?” She asked. 

“Ready.” He answered, and then the arrows flew. Waves of arrows, but they kept coming. Maria was scavenging her own fletched arrows from the corpses of templars as they ran circles around the trebuchet and was forced to use her bow to whack a templar across the face before driving that dagger at her waist into his throat. 

“It’s done!” Beatrix shouted from behind him. He turned to see Vivienne, nearly overwhelmed, ice spinning and cracking. “I can set it…” 

“Not yet!” Maria screamed as she grabbed two arrows. “We have to wait for the flare!” 

“Herald!” Cassandra yelled, warning Maria of the arrival of a behemoth behind her. She ducked quickly out of the way and it headed for Vivienne and Beatrix. Vivienne’s spells did nothing and the beast continued. Cassandra tried to push through the templars surrounding her, Varric fired off three bolts that bounced harmlessly off. Maria landed an arrow in the creatures eye and it roared, throwing it’s massive fist of red lyrium down into the snow, between Vivienne and Beatrix. Vivienne fell with a cry, but Beatrix jumped, clinging onto the creature’s arm. 

Varric felt like the world was caught in slow motion as it reared her up and slammed it’s fist back down, Beatrix barely hanging on. Her knives flashed and he heard Maria scream as Maria stabbed her knives through a chink in the lyrium and the creature screeched in pain, tossing the dwarf off with a roar. Beatrix soared through the air, her head bouncing off the trebuchet before she landed, still in the snow. 

“NO!” Maria yelled as Cassandra finally broke free, bashing the creature down with her shield and stabbing through the things mottled, ruined body. Maria was on her knees next to her sister, head cradled in her head as Vivienne stood, shakily, leaning on her staff as she limped to the dwarves. 

“She is alive, my dear.” Vivienne said, leaning close. “She was foolish, and very brave.” 

“I know.” Maria sounded choked, her eyes looking up and sparkling. “She’s breathing. Her head is bleeding.”

“Head wounds bleed like a stuck nug.” Varric reminded Maria gently. “We’ll get her out of here.” 

“Take her.” Maria was looking up at him, tears shining in her eyes. “I’ll set the lantern to burn through the rope when the flare goes. You’ll have to carry her, Cassandra will have to help Vivienne. You’ll need a head start.” 

“No. We don’t leave people behind, remember?” Varric asked, kneeling down. “You said that.” 

“You’re not leaving me behind. I’ll be right behind you, I promise. Please, please take her. I’ll never forgive myself if…” Maria trailed off, leaning down to brush her lips over Bea’s forehead. 

Varric was transported back to the deep roads, Hawke bending over Carver’s fevered face and pouring water down his throat as Anders rushed them through the tunnels searching for the gray wardens. She had kissed his forehead the same way, and Varric couldn’t remember anyone ever doing that to him. That, he thought grimly, was love. And sometimes, love demanded doing whatever it took to save someone. Varric finally nodded reluctantly, looking up at Cassandra. Cassandra looked out over the, momentarily, quiet battlefield. The screech of the dragon was getting louder again, if it took out the trebuchet. 

“Go.” Maria pleaded, standing. Varric stooped down, hefting the dwarf’s weight into his arms. Maria brushed back hair from her sister’s face tenderly, looking up at him, at Cassandra and Vivienne. “Right behind you.” 

Cassandra turned, hooking Vivienne’s spare arm over her shoulders as the woman limped. Varric hesitated, just a moment, to take in the sight of Maria against the trebuchet, Haven burning around her. “I’ll see you in the mountains, Princess.” He said softly. 

Maria’s wet eyes reflected the fire burning around them as she leaned in, over her sister, her hand gripping his shirt sleeve. Her warm, dry lips brushed against his cheek and she shoved him away. “Go.” She demanded again, turning her back to him and pulling her bow free to face any more templars that came, alone. 

It was a mad dash through the abandoned chantry, stumbling onto the mountain path and following the trail tread through the snow by all the refugees and pilgrims. “Varric, do you need me to carry her?” Cassandra asked. 

“I’ve got her, Seeker. Rather you keep that sword arm free.” Varric shifted Beatrix warm weight, comforting among the smell of ash and smoke. She smelled a bit like her sister, the citrus was the same underneath the smell of blood. They must have used the same soap. 

The ground trembled and Varric almost stumbled forward as they both looked down the hill, towards the Chantry. “It is the dragon. It must have landed.” Vivienne observed. 

“Do you think she’s set the lantern?” Cassandra asked. Varric swore.

“No, she fucking didn’t, seeker. There hasn’t been a flare.” Varric watched, pinned in place. 

“We must continue on.” Cassandra said, lips thin. “It is what she wanted.” 

“She’s going to die! She can’t survive a dragon!” Varric protested. 

“Or she is already dead.” Cassandra dropped her eyes to the ground, the only indication of grief the tight line of her jaw and her clenched fist. “And you carry the thing she most wanted to save.” 

Varric tightened his hold on his burden, staring back at Haven as Cassandra and Vivienne continued to stagger, before her reluctantly began to follow them again, trudging through the snow. It wasn’t too late, her footsteps would ring out from behind them and she’d race past him with her wicked smile, bow slung over her back. She didn’t come. He could hear voices ahead of them, the stragglers of the Haven refugees? Then a flare soared into the sky over their heads and all three of them turned to watch what happened in the valley below. There was a heartbeat where it seemed nothing would, but then the groan of trebuchet could be heard. The heavy stone projectile soared through the air, into the mountain and the dragon soared upwards as the snow began to fall, gathering speed and debris. 

Now, he would surely hear her coming up the path, laughing. Varric waited with Cassandra and Vivienne, waited as the red templars were crushed, waited as Haven disappeared in snow, fires went out. He even waited as an eerie quiet fell over the whole scene and the roar of the dragon grew faint, but nothing happened. “She is gone.” Vivienne said, swaying. “Maker take her to his side.” 

“No.” Varric responded harshly, feeling the breath catch in his throat. “What the fuck is the point in a Maker who gives you a herald, then takes her like that?” 

“I do not know.” Cassandra answered sadly. 

 

A healer took Beatrix from him as they caught up to the main body of the inquisition, but Varric stayed by her side in the makeshift tent. Dawn was lighting the sky and Cullen and Cassandra were talking in low tones. Cullen looked unbearably forlorn as he looked back the way they came. The woman beside him groaned as she stirred, hand going to her head. “Fuck… feel like a horse ran me over.” 

“Basically.” Varric tried to smile as he looked at her, her grey eyes cracking open just a bit to take him in. “Giant red lyrium monster, horse, same thing.” 

“Where’s Maria?” She asked. Varric had prepared, he knew what he needed to say, but the words stuck in his throat as he stared helplessly into those eyes that were perfect matches for her sister’s. She’d never be able to look in a mirror again without seeing that, he thought. His mouth opened and closed a few times. 

“Shit…” Varric mumbled. 

“Where. Is. Maria.” The woman asked again, pushing herself up too fast. She swayed dangerously and Varric reached out to steady her.

“Saying it makes it real and he is afraid to hurt you, though he has to.” Cole began from where he sat, perched next to the dying Chancellor. “Brave and bold, red hair shining. Pleading to take you and go. Said she’d be there, but wasn’t and we waited. I wanted her to be alive. She was beautiful and heroic and shouldn’t have died alone.” 

“What?” Beatrix asked, her voice breaking on the one syllable. “Varric, what is he…” 

“I’m sorry. She asked us to go. She said she’d be right behind us, but…” Varric took a deep breath as all the color Beatrix had regained drained from her face again. “She buried Haven, but she didn’t get out in time. She saved us.” 

“No.” Bea shook her head, bringing her fist up to her lips, the word skating over her shaking knuckles. “No,  _ no. _ ” The second no was louder, causing Cassandra and Cullen to stop and look, their faces dropping immediately. 

“The Herald…” Vivienne began, kindly enough. 

“Fuck your Herald!” Beatrix screamed, bringing her fist up to connect weakly against Varric’s arm, his chest. “She was my sister! My  _ sister _ ! You left her! How could you!” 

“Ma’am, your stitches.” A healer said, concerned, kneeling beside Beatrix. Sobs broke free of the woman’s chest as she curled in on herself, wrapping her arms around her knees and letting out a keening wail. 

“Child, your sister saved hundreds of people, including you.” Vivienne persisted, but not unkindly as she limped gracefully over and sat next to the battered woman. “She is worth grieving, but do not diminish her sacrifice.” 

“Not a sacrifice. Paper dolls on the floor of nanna’s kitchen, Maria’s hands in my hair while she’s trying to tame the curls. Laughing when they tumble free. Sacrifices are for chess, not people.” Cole mumbled. 

“Lovely, take it away, will you?” Vivienne asked as she stroked Beatrix’s hair. Varric stood. 

“C’mon kid, lets take a walk.” Varric gestured, pulling the boy from the tent. 

“I want to help, but I don’t know how yet.” Cole reasoned. 

“Some things can’t be helped, kid.” Varric answered. 

“Should’ve gone back, shouldn’t have left. Should’ve kissed her. Red hair shining in the flames as she pulls her bow. The Maker was supposed to keep her safe.” Cole responded, looking down at his hands. 

“Things like that kid.” Varric sighed, patting the lad’s elbow. “Things like that can’t be helped.” 

“Vivienne thinks I’m a demon, but you think I’m a kid. She thought I was a kid.” Cole remarked. 

“Shit, I don’t know. Do you want to be a kid?” Varric asked. 

“Maybe?” Cole answered, tilting his head to the side. “Do kids help?” 

“Sure, why not.” Varric answered with a shrug. 

“She thought you were very handsome when you danced, even your broken nose.” Cole paused, drumming his fingers nervously against his skinny thigh. “Does that help?” 

Varric couldn’t help the wistful smile. “Maybe.” 

 

They trudged through the snow the best they could with frequent stops, although Varric suspected they were hopelessly lost. Some carts had been salvaged from Haven and they carried their meager supplies and their injured. Most of their inquisition continued to look over their shoulders as the day passed, waiting for the templars or the dragon to appear and finish the job. They got further and further and further from Haven, but nobody seemed relieved. Maker, Varric wished he had a better coat as the wind whipped through his jacket. He couldn’t feel his feet either. 

Would Hawke hear what happened? He’d have to figure out how to get word to them, warn them that templars were even more dangerous than usual and break the good news of his survival. But these thoughts, these fleeting temporary thoughts were distractions. If he closed his eyes during one of their rests and tried hard enough to block out everyone else, he could feel Maria’s waist under his palm, her body pressed against his chest as she leaned up. Warmth, happiness… 

Red hair gleaming in the firelight. He sighed, rubbing his forehead as their moving caravan ground to their last stop, the sky darkening quickly. “What is that thing?” Beatrix asked from behind him, scaring the pants just about off him. She was eying Cole uncertainly from the corner of her eye as he helped Chancellor Roderick. 

“Maker knows.” Varric sighed. 

“He’s in my head.” Beatrix answered shortly. “He’s in your head.” 

Varric didn’t see the point in denying it, he just nodded glumly. Beatrix swallowed. “Everyone keeps talking like she was fucking Andraste. But she wasn’t, you knew that too. You wanted to see her naked, yeah, but you knew she was a person.” 

“Honestly, wouldn’t stop Andraste from showing me her tits if she was so inclined.” Varric answered wryly. Beatrix tried to laugh, but couldn’t quite make it work. She was keeping her gray eyes pointed at the ground and Varric was secretly thankful. He couldn’t bear them in someone else’s face. “C’mon Mittens, let’s see if we can eat something.” 

“Why Mittens?” She asked dully. 

“You remind me of a cat that used to hang around Kirkwall. Was always chasing the other cats tails but once clawed a dog so badly that the poor bastard developed a lifelong fear of cats.” Varric explained and was rewarded by a small smile. 

“Yeah, that sounds just like me.” She agreed. 

Night fell, and they spent most of it not talking. Cassandra and Cullen wanted to look for stragglers, but hadn’t set out yet. Varric wanted to go, but he knew he wouldn’t find the face he was looking for out in the cold night. 

“Dark, dark.” Cole muttered. “Embers, warm. Close?” 

“Cole…” Beatrix started, tone warning. 

“Warm thoughts, sun on the waking sea. Blanket we wrapped the kittens up in when they were born. Flask of whiskey in my sister’s belt, his hand on my waist when he spun me and pulled me close, stubble under my lips when I told him to go… Maker, just a bit father. To the next tree, and I’ll rest.” 

Beatrix was staring, aghast at Cole, but Varric was already up. “Where?” He demanded. 

“There. She’s so cold.” Cole pointed over the rise and Varric ran, forgetting the cold, plowing through the snow. Beatrix was behind him as they crashed forward, searching the darkness. 

“Maria!” Beatrix called. “Maria!” 

Something moved out of the corner of his eye and Varric was there, pulling up a figure more frozen than not, smoothing red hair away from her pale face as she stared up at him. Her teeth chattered together as she tried to talk. “You’re alive. You survived.” Varric was dumbfounded, a grin almost feeling foreign on his face. “You survived.”

“It’s a talent.” She was almost incomprehensible as she spoke, her voice a harsh whisper.

“Maria!” Beatrix was there, pulling her frozen form into her arms. Maria winced as her sister grabbed her and Bea froze. “You’re hurt.” 

“A bit.” Maria admitted, voice broken. Then her eyes rolled until Varric could see nothing but white and she pitched forward. Varric rushed forward, catching her in his arms. He could feel something warm and sticky seeping into his tunic. 

“Run back and get help.” Varric ordered as he swung her frozen limbs into his arm. She was like ice against his chest, her head lolling bonelessly against his shoulder. Beatrix didn’t need told twice, taking off as fast as her legs could take her, clambering up the rocky slope. Varric followed, slower, trying not to jostle her more than necessary and running his hands briskly along her limbs. Her breath was faint against his neck. He made it to the top of the slope just in time to see Cullen and Cassandra, looking amazed and faintly hopeful. 

“It is her. Maker be praised.” Cassandra gasped. “Is she…” 

“She’s hurt.” Varric explained. Cullen met him, bending down to lift Maria’s form from his arms. Varric had to fight the urge to pull her closer, to argue. Cullen lifted her as gently as a child, and she looked almost childlike in his arms, swallowed up by the much bigger human. His arms felt empty and his heart ached as they rushed away. He followed on their heels, watching as the survivors of Haven grew quiet, awed at the sight of their Herald’s red hair splayed over Cullen’s armor. 

Adan was waiting with Beatrix as Cullen laid her gently on a cot. “She’s freezing.” Cullen explained. Adan ordered a fire to be built up closer to them as he began to undo her leathers, cutting away what he couldn’t unlace.

“Varric…” Maria’s voice mumbled as he worked. Her eyes weren’t open, but he could see her head moving slightly to the side. Varric almost elbowed Cullen aside in his rush to be next to her. 

“Right here, Princess.” He said, reaching forward to work her glove from frozen flesh. 

“Thank you...for Bea.” She mumbled listlessly.

“Take it easy, Herald.” Adan advised as he revealed as he cut away the cotton shirt beneath her leather armor. “Looks like you fell on something, but we’ll get it out. May be a shit healer, but I’ll do it for you.” 

“Wish Hawke was here.” Varric said gently as he cupped her frozen fingers with his own. He’d revealed the hand with the mark glowing faintly in her palm and he could feel it tingling and pulsing through his gloves. Her sister held the other with both her hands. “Not a decent healer in this inquisition, she’d have you up and about in seconds.” 

Adan hissed and Varric looked down, wincing at the canvas of black and blue flesh stretching over Maria’s pale skin. The alchemist’s fingers touched her ribs lightly and Maria’s breath caught. “Broken.” Adan observed. “Lucky you didn’t puncture a lung.” 

“That’s me.” Maria joked. Her body was starting to shiver. 

“Cullen, a blanket…” Cassandra began. There were no blankets, Varric thought grimly. Cullen knew this, so instead of fruitlessly searching he tore off his coat with the warm fur at the collar and draped it over her chest so the fur circled her face. 

“This is the bigger problem. What’d you land on?” Adan asked. 

“Mine shaft. Piece of wood. Had to break it off, didn’t want to pull it out.” Maria muttered. Adan was looking at a shaft of wood protruding about an inch from Maria’s abdomen. 

“Would have bled out if you did.” Adan commented cheerfully. “Maybe you’re smarter than I thought. It’ll have to come out now.” 

“Just like when Dwyka fell on that sword rack, right Bea?” Maria asked, eyes closed. Beatrix cracked a tiny smile. 

“Hawke almost bled out the same way after the Arishok. Would have if she hadn’t started stitching herself together.” Varric babbled nervously as Adan sponged something smelling strongly of alcohol around the wound. 

“That’s not in the book.” Maria accused. It was Cassandra’s turn to smile. 

“Yeah, well, that’s the shit part of the story. Much better to think the hero emerges unscathed.” Varric defended. 

Maria was about to say something else, but Adan had gripped the wooden shaft and was pulling. Her face turned ashen and she bit her lip, squeezing her eyes shut. The shaft came out covered in blood and Adan dashed the wound in more alcohol. “It’ll be alright, Herald.” He soothed, handing Beatrix a red potion. “Have her drink this.” 

“C’mon then.” Varric moved to hold Maria’s head as Beatrix tipped the vial into her mouth. 

“The dragon… it landed before you fired the trebuchet.” Cassandra pressed. 

“With it’s ugly master. Said his name was Corypheus.” Varric winced as Maria’s lips formed around the word and Cassandra’s back went straight as a rod as she turned to Varric. 

“Dwarf. Outside.” She demanded. Varric sighed, squeezing Maria’s fingers just a moment and gazing down at her pale face. 

“Be right back, Princess. Don’t go anywhere.” He said gently. Cullen laid a reassuring hand on Varric’s shoulder and squeezed.

“I’ll watch over her for now.” He offered. Varric nodded in agreement as Cassandra stood scowling outside the tent. She grabbed his tunic almost as soon as he was through the door.

“You said he was dead. You said the Champion…” 

“She did!” Varric would swear to it. “I was there Seeker! We left a corpse there, nothing else.” 

“If you are lying, dwarf…” Cassandra began to threaten.

“I’m not!” Varric protested. Not about that, anyway. But even as he protested his innocence and recounted the whole sorry episode from Carta assasination attempt to Broody stabbing the corpse, Varric was planning. He needed to get word to Hawke, they needed her. Hawke’s blood had been the key to releasing Corypheus, if he was still alive then maybe it could be the key to boxing him back up or killing him for good. As soon as he could, he’d write and send the letters to all the safehouses. Guilt rose up inside him as he thought of Hawke, returning to danger at his beckoning. But then he looked over at the still figure of the Herald laying in the tent and sighed. 

She’d almost died and he wasn’t about to allow that to happen again, and if he needed Hawke to do it… so be it. He just hoped Hawke would understand. 


	21. Letters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric writes letters to Maria he doesn't send and letters to Hawke that he does send. Hawke writes one letter for Fenris.

Varric couldn’t believe an abandoned fortress was just lying abandoned in the Frostback mountains, waiting for their sorry asses to stagger in. But they’d stumbled through the rotted portcullis like drunkards making their way home for their night, laughing and cheering. In the lead, as she had been since that night she’d tumbled out of death itself back into his arms, was Maria Cadash. Idolized, adored, celebrated. 

He hadn’t been able to get her alone for a minute. She was always with Cullen or Cassandra and the troops, scouting out the path ahead of them with Solas, making rations stretch with Josephine. She squeezed in time to teach Beatrix to ride a horse. All he could do was watch her from a distance...and write. 

It began the same way he’d started the Tale of the Champion, scribbling madly to tell everyone what had really happened. Voices clambered over each other in his head and spilled in hurried ink into his journal. Sera laughed at him when he smudged ink on his nose, but Varric felt haunted by the words. When the story of Haven was out, the hero emerging from the snowy wastes as surely as the readers knew she would, he started at the beginning. Then...there was something else. The letter. 

 

_ Dear Maria,  _

_ You’re with Master Dennet, soothing scared horses. I saw you when I walked past and I wanted to tell you that you do the same thing with every living creature here. Human, elf, dwarf, horse, shit, if there are nugs in the inquisition they’re big fans too.  _

_ You’re busy, I know that. Being the Herald of Andraste is time consuming, even Mittens keeps complaining you’re neglecting her. Sure it’s worth it, Princess? Running back to the Free Marches is still an option. I’d go with you.  _

_ Our last moment was interrupted by your sister, an army of crazed templars, and an archdemon. Wonder what will happen next time?  _

_ Yours, _

_ Varric  _

 

He’d written it and meant to slip it into her tent that night, but hadn’t. It remained, it’s own page in his journal. Doubts plagued him as the memory of the night grew fuzzy as he heard the story of that night repeated around him. Had there been a moment? Certainly there had, if there hadn’t been his pulse wouldn’t leap at the thought of her under his hands again. 

As if summoned by his thoughts, she stood before him now, spinning in an empty great hall. “It’s very grand.” She commented, looking up at the ceiling beams. 

“Only the best for our Princess.” Varric responded, running his gloved hands over solid stonework. 

“Skyhold.” Solas said, nodding. Maria repeated the word, smiling and placing her hands on the curve of her hips. Beside him, Beatrix crossed her arms over her chest thoughtfully as she examined her sibling. He could see the woman chewing on the inside of her cheek, but his attention was caught by the beams of light falling from the cracked windows onto Maria’s red hair, lighting her on fire. When he looked back at Beatrix, she was smiling at him and quirked an eyebrow in a question. 

“How will we supply it?” Josephine worried, scribbling on her little board.

“Oh, I think we can.” Maria said confidently, shrugging in her ill fitted leathers and glancing back at her sister. “What do you think?” 

Beatrix laughed, shaking her head. “You want the Cadash smuggling ring to get you supplies for a holy army?” She asked, amazed. 

“Think of it as a business expansion. We’re still going to need the lyrium, no?” Maria shot a glance at Cullen who nodded grimly.

“And who is going to organize this expansion?” Beatrix asked, but Maria was smiling wickedly. Bea shook her head, continuing to laugh. “Me? You have to be joking. You must have hit your head on an archdemon.” 

“You’re fully capable, no matter how much you deny it.” Maria stated reasonably, shrugging her shoulders. 

“Surely, non-criminal channels…” Josephine began. 

“You said yourself, Josie. Traditional methods won’t get us the supplies we need quickly enough. Taking advantage of the networks we have seems prudent.” Leliana answered. 

“We’ll get you a list of what we need, Bea. And we’ll send coin to back it up. Anything else you can use Cadash credit to secure, then send the bills here.” Varric chuckled as Bea’s jaw dropped. 

“Any other stupid decisions you’d like me to make on your behalf?” Bea asked, rubbing her temple. Varric could see a headache forming. “Maybe we should ask our rivals for donations? Go into the dragon wrangling business? Invest in Griffon saddles?” 

“Tell Nanna it was my doing if you’re scared.” Maria offered gamely. 

“She’s going to murder you, Maker…” Beatrix swallowed heavily and looked around. “I need to sit down. A fainting couch maybe. I bet that Vivienne has one stashed in our luggage.” 

 

Two days later, Varric watched Beatrix packing up saddle bags and ordering around her own small convoy of Inquisition troops. A slender elf darted away with her orders nervously as Bea checked the cart she’d procured. “They’re surprising her with a big ass sword in a couple minutes.” Varric thumbed his finger over his shoulder. “Declaring her the head of this little organization. You’ll stay to watch, won’t you?” 

“Can’t leave without saying goodbye, can I?” Bea chirped. “Can she actually lift the sword? Has anyone checked?” 

“She’ll be fine. Or she’ll accidentally take off Nightingale's ear. Either way, it’s worth watching.” Varric grinned, fingering the letters in his hands. “I need a favor.” 

“Of course you do, cause my job wasn’t gonna be hard enough.” The woman complained, turning to him. He handed the letters to her. 

“I need these to go to a courier at the Lake Callenhad docks, shady looking human by the name of Simon. Tell him one for each drop and give him this.” Varric hefted a purse full of coins in his hand. “As payment.” 

“That’s a lot of coin for a letter, dwarf.” Bea fingered the parchment thoughtfully. “Where are they going?” 

“Does that matter?” Varric asked casually. 

“Val Firmin?” Bea said sweetly, too sweetly, and Varric didn’t quite hide his shock. Bianca’s forge was in Val Firmin. Bianca and her husband were in Val Firmin. Bea’s eyes narrowed like a predator going in for the kill. “What’s her name again? Vasca?” 

“Not anymore.” Varric sighed. “Don’t tell me her family used the Cadash’s to put a hit on me once.” 

“Her family has tried to put a hit out on you with  _ every  _ Carta family, but that’s not the point. The point is…” Bea raised one gloved finger, shoving it hard into his chest. “If these are going to Val Firmin and you spend every spare moment flirting with my sister, we’re going to have a problem Tethras.” 

“I don’t spend every spare moment flirting with your sister. Sometimes I annoy Cassandra.” Bea made an impatient noise and her hand dropped to dangerously caress the dagger at her waist. Varric reached for her wrist and caught it. “It’s not for her. It’s for a friend, an old friend, asking for help. I haven’t heard from  _ her _ in,,, damn, four years now.” 

Beatrix relaxed, smile softening sadly. “She can’t say  _ his _ name either still and it’s been a decade. The baggage you two carry.” 

“It’s easier to not carry any?” Varric asked wryly. 

“Do I seem like I mind my absence of personal tragedy?” Bea asked, tapping her pink lips thoughtfully. “I’ll see to your letters, anyway.” 

Varric nodded, offering his elbow. “I’ll escort you over to this shindig, if you’ll excuse all my baggage.”

“I’ll try.” Bea let out a long suffering sigh, sticking the letters in the pouch at her hip and taking Varric’s elbow. “Maker knows I have practice.” 

They steered through the courtyard of Haven, Bea using her rather sharp elbows to knock the crowd out of their way until they stood in the front. Maria was climbing the stairs with Cassandra, hips swaying and red hair braided and draped over her shoulder. Somebody had finally gotten her clothes that fit and she swaggered in a leather corset that cinched her waist in, blouse left roguishly untied just enough to tease a glimpse of her cleavage and soft leather leggings emphasizing her shapely legs and boots laced up to her knees. Leliana was holding the massive sword out to her with a small smile. 

Maria hesitated only a moment as Josephine read her declaration as Inquisitor and Cullen led the troops in a cheer. Her eyes roamed the crowd until it fell on them and Varric gave a smart, cocky salute. Maria’s smile twisted up, eyes flashing as she turned to Leliana and gripped the massive sword. She hefted it over her head and turned to the army. They descended into cheers and whoops of joy and pride. The sun caught Maria’s hair, wreathing her in fire. 

“Make sure she eats.” Bea said softly, frowning as she observed. “And sleeps. She’ll work herself to death if you let her.” 

“I’ll take care of her, Mittens.” Varric promised. “You take care of yourself out there.” 

“Don’t worry.” Bea said breezily as the crowd dispersed and Maria handed the sword back to Leliana. “I’ve never managed to stumble into religion, archdemons, or darkspawn.” 

“I can hear you!” Maria complained as she ambled down the steps. “I’ll have you know, there was no stumbling involved.” 

“Inquisitor Cadash.” Beatrix repeated, shaking her head. “I bet the Guild and Orzammar are dying, all dwarven kind represented by a Carta rat.” 

“They’ll have to get used to it.” Maria grinned, tossing her braid back.

Varric walked the two sisters back to the stable, hanging back as they said their goodbyes. Beatrix vaulted herself into the saddle and set off with a cheerful wave with her inquisition scouts. “Do you think she’ll be alright?” Maria asked, wrapping her arms around herself. 

“Mittens? She’ll have a blast.” Varric reassured. “C’mon, let’s go get an ale, Inquisitor.” 

“Inquisitor!” Cassandra yelled from behind them. Maria smirked. “We must talk about the demon that joined us in Haven…” 

“Later, I promise.” She said, turning on her heel jauntily and hooking her thumbs into belt as she met Cassandra’s thunderous glare with a small, pleased smile. 

 

One week later, a caravan full of fruits, vegetables, chickens, beans, cheeses, and salted meat arrived in the courtyard with a letters for Maria and one for Varric. Maria read hers aloud, choking on laughter in the tavern. 

“Upon arriving at port, I was informed a local raider Admiral had engaged in a skirmish with a Tevinter fleet and emerged victorious. Instead of finding gold and valuables, they found foodstuffs meant for the great magisters if Minrathous and were desperate to get rid of them. I arranged a meeting with this admiral, but letting slip that I was working with your fucking Inquisition turned out to be a bit of a mistake. The Admiral is apparently quite concerned about the apparent captivity of one bastard dwarf named Tethras and challenged me to a duel. I accepted, but resolved to cheat and bring blackout powder. Apparently, she had the same thought.” Maria read, stifling her laughter. Iron Bull laughed heartily, pounding his fist on the table. 

“Never trust Raiders or Carta to play fair.” He observed, downing his mug. 

“What happened next?” Sera pressed, leaning forward to attempt to read over Maria’s shoulder. Maria batted her away and continued. 

“We both stumbled around swearing at each other in pitch blackness until I ended up with my face pressed up in her tits. At the same time, her hand ended up on my ass. I know you have always rejected my attempts at diplomacy, but not only did the duel end without bloodshed, but she has agreed to work for your holy cause.” It was Varric’s turn to pound his fist on the table, near choking on his ale. 

“Typical Isabela. She could have been fucking my assassin for all she knew.” Varric shook his head and rolled his eyes. 

“This is the foodstuffs she stole from the Tevinters. She is asking for payment to be sent via messenger at your convenience and for a letter from Tetras to ensure he is held captive by nothing more…” Maria trailed off, attempting to fold the letter hurriedly. Sera was not having it, plucking it from her hands quickly and holding it up above Maria’s head. 

“Nothing more than your own fine tits and smouldering grey eyes.” Sera finished, cackling brightly. 

“They are quite nice.” Iron Bull said with a wolfish grin. “Your tits, of course. I’ve yet to see these smouldering eyes.” 

Maria rolled her eyes and shot a wink at Varric before molding her face into her best seductive pout and batting her long lashes at Bull. Dorian pretended to swoon, sinking into Blackwall, who promptly moved to allow the mage to drop to the floor. This got a smile even from Solas. The rest of the ground descended into raucous laughter, including Maria.Varric watched the flush move up her cheeks as she tucked her hair behind her ear. 

“Nothing on those puppy eyes, though, Dwarf.” Bull mumbled with a sly smirk, his one eye catching Varric’s. 

“Me?” He asked innocently. “No idea what you’re talking about.” 

In his journal that night, he wrote another brief note that he didn’t send. 

 

_ Dear Maria, _

_ You’re beautiful when you laugh.  I could make you laugh every day.  _

_ Yours, _

_ Varric _

 

“Do you think I’m actually the Herald of Andraste?” She asked, bewildered as they sat in front of the fireplace writing letters, balancing ledgers. 

“You don’t?” He asked, scratching his chin. 

“I have no idea what’s going on.” She admitted with a shrug. “But I’m used to making decisions and running a crew. I just keep trying to think like that, except...larger.” 

“Well, you walked out of a hole in the sky.” Varric began, leaning back in his chair. “Traveled through time. Closed said hole in the sky. Fought off an archdemon. Survived an avalanche that buried an army. Either you’re the Herald of Andraste or you have the worst luck.” 

“So I’m divine based on my divinely bad luck?” She asked, wrinkling her nose in amusement.

“I have no idea what’s going on either.” Varric smirked. “But I believe in you.” 

“I thought you’d take the opportunity to tell me I was divinely beautiful.” She joked. 

“You already know you are.” The words were out of his mouth before he could consider them and her smile became softer. Her lips parted and her tongue darted out to wet the bottom one. “Maria…” He began, closing his ledger. 

“Inquisitor!” Curly was striding up quickly, eyes glued to the parchment in front of his face. “There have been some interesting reports from the scouts that we need to go over.” 

“I think you just did that yesterday.” Varric protested, but Maria was already standing, tucking her papers away hurriedly. 

“Sorry, Cullen. I lost track of time.” She said apologetically. “Varric...later?” She asked. Was there a note of hope in that voice, or was he imagining it? Varric smiled and nodded and Maria made to follow Cullen out. Before she could drift away with him, her fingers dropped to his shoulder as she passed and traced a short line. Then she was gone. 

Varric almost shuddered visibly, struggling to master himself. Her touch felt like fire, even through the silk shirt. He wanted to go after her, pull her away from Cullen, drag her to his room and finish what they had nearly started in Haven. It was damn impossible to get her alone long enough to work up to this, and Varric wasn’t used to rushing the chase. He was too old for this shit. 

“Messere Tethras.” A girl bobbed in front of him with an awkward curtsy. 

“Yes?” He snapped, rubbing his face. The girl shrunk back and Varric sighed, softening his voice. “Sorry, what do you need?” 

“There’s a woman here for you, ser.” She squeaked. “She asked to be shown to your rooms and wouldn’t take no for an answer.” 

“Alone?” Varric asked. “Just one woman, no one else?” 

“Yes ser. I didn’t see anyone else.” The girl answered before bowing hastily and rushing away. Varric gathered up his paperwork thoughtfully and cast a surreptitious gaze around him as he exited the hall and wandered to his room overlooking the courtyard. No sign of Cassandra or Leliana, but that didn’t mean that Nightingale didn’t already know. She probably wouldn’t want to be the one to tell Cassandra, however. 

He didn’t knock on his own door, but opened it slowly and slipped in. The room was gloomy without candlelight and with the door shut behind him, but he could clearly make out the woman that jumped from his bed and threw herself on him. “I thought you were dead!” She whispered furiously, pressing her lips against his forehead. “Don’t ever do that again, you hear me! I will go into the void myself and drag you out.” 

“Let me light a lantern first, Maker’s tits Hawke, I’m fine.” He patted her lower back awkwardly. She let go of him and turned to his lantern, snapping her fingers and lighting the two lanterns. Varric grinned. “Ah, handy as ever.” 

“What happened? Your letter didn’t tell me anything.” Hawke scowled, pushing her messy hair behind her ear. “On the way up here I heard your dwarf friend came back from the dead.” 

“Just about, Hawke.” Varric sighed. “Where’s Broody? I’d rather tell it once.” 

Hawke’s face turned dark and she looked away from him, staring out his window into the courtyard. Varric could see the sharp angles of her face highlighted in bright light. “He’s not coming.” She bit out. 

“Not coming?” Varric repeated hollowly. “Not coming? Broody doesn’t not come with you.” 

“I can’t Varric.” The words tumbled from Hawke’s lips and her eyes were strangely haunted. “I nearly lost him and you. I can’t do it again. He’s safe where he is. He’s not coming into danger for me again.” 

“Does he know where you are?” Varric asked. Hawke bit her lip and lowered her eyes. Varric swore. “Hawke… you need to write. He’ll be…” 

“Varric, he almost died in my arms saving me.” Hawke’s voice cracked. 

“Tell me what happened, Hawke. And I’ll tell you what happened here.” He promised, sitting her on the edge of his bed. Hawke did, through tears and stony cold silences. And when she finished Varric rubbed his chin thoughtfully and began his tale while Hawke listened.

 

Fenris woke up, groggy, right as sun was setting. Lucia was sitting at the door, looking mournfully at it. With a great deal of energy, far too much, Fenris forced himself up from the bed. Hawke had finally removed the bandage, declaring him safe from infection the night before. Now, Fenris could run his hands over the scarred, knotted flesh, feel the disruption of his lyrium markings, the new flesh that Hawke had coaxed into creation which was pink and tender. 

“Reyna.” He called. Lucia looked at him instead and whimpered, looking pointedly back at the door. Gone then. She’d left several times over the last two weeks as Fenris tried to regain his strength. He’d insisted on trying to go with her twice, the first time he’d barely made it to the door. The second time, he’d made it almost to the bottom of the path leading to their shack. He’d had to rest for three hours before he could return. Hawke complained about him pushing himself relentlessly, but all he was right now was a liability. If those creatures came back, it would just be Hawke and Lucia to fight them and that was unacceptable. 

Fenris struggled to get out of bed, cursing his weakness as his bare feet hit the cold floor and he shoved himself up. His side twinged in pain but he endured it, it got less each day. Soon, he would be back to his full strength and they could move on. Soon. The tunic she’d been attempting to mend was discarded on the table, stitches clumsily finished. There was food set out, enough for more than dinner tonight. Fenris counted the fruits and cheeses, calculating. Maker, why would Hawke leave out enough food for days? How long did she think it would take her to do whatever she was doing? 

Lucia whimpered again, bright eyes on the door. There was something sad there and Fenris was beginning to feel dread building in his stomach. Fenris made his way, feeling like an old man as he moved, toward the table with the food piled on it. Buckets of fresh water lined underneath. There was a scrap of parchment with Hawke’s words scrawled across it. She had smudged the ink with a drop of water, and this was the first detail Fenris latched onto desperately, tracing the smudge. Then he read, stomach dropping and fist clenching onto the table. 

 

_ Amatus,  _

_ I cannot risk losing you. If I don’t come back, know that I love you desperately and the only thing I regret is the sacrifices you’ve made for me. Be happy. Be safe.  _

_ -R.  _


	22. The Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cole and Maria play with flowers. Varric is busted in more ways than one. Hawke meets Maria.

Hawke slept in his bed that evening while Varric spent the night awake and restless in an armchair. Finally, shortly before dawn, he crept out of the room and shut the door. He locked it behind him, knowing that it wouldn’t keep Sera out if she was still prowling. He’d just have to trust she was in bed herself. He made his way into the main keep and up the circling stairs into the rotunda, listening to the soft cawing of ravens.

Sister Nightingale was awake - as far as Varric was aware she never slept. She was smirking as he made his way up the final stairs, leaning against the rough stone and eying him curiously.   
“Well, well.” She said quietly. “I didn’t think you’d need another bird with one in your bed.”

“She’s shit at delivering messages.” Varric explained with a shrug.

“You are lucky I thought to check myself before sending agents to investigate the strange mage intimidating the servants. Maker, what if I’d sent Cassandra?” Leliana giggled. “She is quite bad at subtlety, no?”

“Thank you for sparing us.” Varric answered sarcastically. “I need a favor, for her.”

“First, one question. And be honest.” Leliana warned, leaning forward. Varric put his hand over his heart sincerely and waited, eyebrow raised.

“My friend… the hero of Ferelden is missing. She is your Hawke’s cousin, and I know they’ve met. Chantal didn’t tell me, wouldn’t tell me and risk dividing my loyalties… but the Siren’s Revenge docked in Amaranthine several years ago. I’d be a fool to not know who was on that ship.” Leliana paused, allowing Varric a chance to deny it.

“We were, at the invitation of the Warden Commander herself, through unofficial channels of course.” Varric responded easily.

“Unofficial channels. Zevran, of course.” Leliana shook her head, but her affection was evident in her soft tone. “She… my companions, my friends, are among the few I truly trust. The fact that Chantal is missing is troublesome, more troublesome than the absence of all the Grey Wardens together. Your Hawke, does she know where her cousin is?”

“They’ve been in contact, on and off, since they met, but Hawke hasn’t heard from her since before the conclave.” Leliana’s face dropped, the shining hope disappearing. “I’m sorry.”

“It was a lot too hope.” Leliana answered briskly. “I was foolish to think…”

“There is a Grey Warden that Hawke has been talking too. Well, three, but the two in Kirkwall have no idea what’s going on. The  third is cryptic, but asked Hawke to meet. She wants to take the Inquisitor. Perhaps he will know…” It was a long shot, Varric knew. If Chantal wanted to disappear, she had Zevran with her to make it happen, but perhaps…

“It is better than nothing. Thank you. Now what do you need?” Leliana asked, all business.

“A messenger to deliver a letter. I will warn you, the recipient is likely to be… agitated.” Varric shrugged apologetically. Leliana held out her hand and Varric placed the message in her glove. “To our Broody friend, to let him know Hawke has arrived safe. He’s in a shack near Lake Calenhad. Across from the circle tower.”

“We’ll find it.” Leliana reassured. “Now, I must return to work.” She turned her back to him coldly and Varric shook his head before retreating back down the stairs. Varric couldn’t ignore the knot in his stomach, the sick burn of betrayal. Hawke had asked him not to, ordered him not to, and if it had been anyone else he’d have listened. If she didn’t want Carver or Isabela or Merrill to know, fine, but Fenris…

Oh it was a shit situation, but Broody would show up looking either way, Varric reasoned. It’d be better to be on the right side of that anger when it occurred. Besides, Hawke needed her Broody elf, you’d be blind to miss the signs. She had spent most of the night tossing and turning, reaching empty hands to an empty space on the bed. When she’d been awake, she’d twisted the ring on her finger around and around without seeming to notice she was doing it. Varric had better things to do than deal with a broken heart that didn’t need to be broken.

He detoured to the kitchen to get food for Hawke, but was sidetracked by the sound of singing and laughter in the store rooms. Dawn was just streaming through the windows above, catching dust motes in the air. He crept forward than almost laughed out loud at the impossible, improbable sight.

Cole was sitting on the table where herbs are cut and dried, legs crossed and broad brimmed hat abandoned beside him. His lank blonde hair fell to his shoulder and a shy, quiet smile danced on his lips. Beside him, her own legs crossed and red hair falling in waves to her shoulders, sat Maria. She was wearing a crown of blue, yellow, and white flowers. She was singing a bawdy drinking song, out of tune and laughing at her own badness in between every verse as she reached forward and helped Cole twist stems together. The boy has his own almost finished crown of flowers in his hands. As Varric watched, she tucked a loose flower between Cole’s ear with a tenderness he would have thought reserved for baby animals and children.

“Reaching, always upward toward the sun. Home in the fire on your head.” Cole murmured, picking his own flower up and tucking it behind Maria’s ear.

“There’s no fire on my head, sweetheart.” She corrected with a smile.

“Sweet, like sugar on pastries or honey in tea. I don’t know what my heart tastes like.” Cole shook his head and Maria laughed again, shaking her head and patting the boy’s cheek softly.

“What am I going to do with you, Cole?” She asked gently.

“Looks like you have a good handle on it.” Varric answered for her, grinning as she jumped and turned, flower crown sliding crooked as she flushed. Varric laughed at the sight, the great Inquisitor blushing.

“Would you believe me if I told you this isn’t what it looks like?” Maria asked desperately, trying to pull the flowers from her hair, but they’d become tangled. She winced at the pain and dropped the crown back into place as Varric approached.

“Of all the compromising positions I could find you in.” Varric teased. “Here, bend down and I’ll try and get it out.”

“But they look nice. You think so too.” Cole protested, looking at Varric. “You just want to see her in flowers and nothing…”

Maria laughed wickedly and Varric shook his head quickly. “Some thoughts, kid, we don’t repeat in polite company.”

“She wants to know how far down your chest hair goes.” Cole commented. “Is my crown done?”

Maria had been leaning into him, but snapped back as Cole spoke and tore her eyes from his face and back to the kid with a bit of a scowl. At the sight of Cole’s shining, hopeful eyes and the proffered crown, she softened.

“Yes.” She answered. “It’s perfect. Come here.” Her deft fingers took the flowers and twisted them just a bit tighter before gently placing it over Cole’s head. Cole touched it gently and smiled at Varric.

“Will Sera like it?” He asked. Varric cringed inwardly.

“Maybe.” Varric answered. “But you shouldn’t…”

Cole was off the table in an instant, running through the door. Sera was almost certainly going to wake up to Cole hovering over her in her room and her screaming would have the whole keep awake. He saw the resignation at the idea cloud over Maria’s face and she muttered quietly. “Balls, I’m going to have to deal with that today, won’t I?”

“I’ll handle it.” Varric offered gallantly. “Now, if you can keep from ogling the chest hair, I can get that thing off your head.”

“I can’t make any promises.” She winked as she slipped from the table and ducked her head for him. Varric began to untangle the stems from her red hair. He tried not to focus on her breath on his chest, the smell of citrus and lavender wafting from her soft, silky hair…

“So, do I even want to know how this happened?” He asked, as much to distract himself as to satisfy his curiosity.

“I couldn't sleep. I’m not sure Cole does sleep. I was hungry, but while I was looking for a snack he showed up with flowers for me.” She shrugged with a small smile. “One thing led to another…”

“And the next thing we know, you’re making illicit flower crowns in the store rooms. Exactly the corrupting influence Vivienne worried Cole would have, I’m sure.” Varric remarked dryly. Maria snorted as he freed the last flower from her hair and lifted the crown, placing it on the table behind her. He started to step back, but her hand wrapped around his forearm and held him still. Varric, for the first time, seriously considered the position they’d found themselves in. Their bodies were so close, almost touching, and she was leaning back on the table. One move on his part and he’d pin her between him and it’s surface.

“What are you doing down here so early?” She asked idly, pulling a loose flower from the table and twisting it through the buttonhole in Varric’s shirt. He could feel her calloused fingertips like fire on his bare skin. She was observing her work with rapt fascination, avoiding his eyes.

“About that…” He began, but her hardly recognized his own voice. She had picked up another flower, placing it in the buttonhole under the first. Maker, if she made her way down the whole shirt he’d be lost. “I have a surprise for you.”

“I like surprises.” She purred, finally looking up from under her eyelashes. Varric’s tenuous control snapped and he grasped her wrists pushing her backward and closing the space between their two bodies until he could feel her warmth cutting through him. He released her wrists and placed his palms on each side of her back, palms on the smooth wood. He lowered his head, resting his forehead on hers and inhaled her scent greedily before exhaling slowly.

“I haven’t been...entirely honest about things that occurred prior to me joining the inquisition.” He said slowly. She laughed throatily, her fingertips grabbing the edge of his shirt.

“I’m aware of your tendency towards outrageous lies.” She pointed out.

“I kept lying, after. You know that.” Maria hummed her agreement in her throat and Varric felt the fourth button of his shirt come undone. He swore and tried to pull back, but she held him fast with a small laugh. “Stop it, this is serious.”

She did stop, but she wasn’t taking it seriously. She raised an eyebrow and continued to hold onto his shirt. “I wasn’t in charge then. You should thank your lucky stars, of course. I’d have had the information I wanted.”

“One way or another, of course.” Varric joked. “But… I’m offering it now. The whole truth. All the help I can offer. And part of it is upstairs. Sleeping. Or awake and starving, but most likely sleeping.”

This caused her smile to drop and awareness to dawn on her face. She dropped his shirt and Varric mourned the loss of contact. “You’re... She’s here? You brought her here?” Maria asked, astonished.

“I figured it’s safe here for her, with you in charge. She fought Corphyeus. She’s been investigating red lyrium. She wants to help.” Varric argued.

“Cassandra is going to kill you.” She whispered, closing her eyes and rubbing her temple. “Maker, she’s going to be furious.”

“I can ask her to go…” Varric teased lightly. Maria whacked him lightly in the chest.

“Don’t you dare!” She scolded. “I won’t miss the chance to meet her. What should I wear?” Maria asked earnestly.

“The flower crown. Nothing else.” Varric answered immediately. Maria laughed, but then her face turned solemn as she tilted her head to the side as if she was thinking.

“Why bring her here now?” She asked gently. Varric sighed, pushing away from the table and straightening. He lifted his hand and slowly, so slowly, ran a thumb over Maria’s cheek. He followed his thumb with a light kiss. Not quite friendly, he admitted as he felt her breath hitch. Still not enough, either.

“We almost lost you.” He answered honestly. “I’ll send word when she’s awake.”

“Varric…” Maria began, hesitant. He watched the emotions war in her eyes before she swallowed, hard. She pushed off the table, throwing her arms around him briefly. “Thank you.” She whispered in his ear before pushing past him and taking off up the stairs. He couldn’t tell until she was gone how...palpable her absence in the room was. He looked after her and felt...forlorn.

Shit, he thought desperately. This has escalated rather quickly from flirtation, respect, friendship to...something. Something he dared not name.

 

Hawke was still asleep when he returned with steaming hot coffee, cheese, bread, and mostly ripe strawberries. Varric had several of the ripest himself while he waited, humming under his breath. He meant to start writing, but he didn’t. Instead he leaned back in his chair, letting his fingers tap a rhythm out on the desk as he put his feet up on the windowsill and looked out at Skyhold slowly waking. While he waited, he thought about Maria and waited to see if he could see the flash of her red hair in the courtyard, hear her laugh. He only stopped humming when he caught a mumbled curse word coming from the bed.

“Morning, Waffles.” He said, overly loudly and far too cheerful. Hawke groaned and peeked from beneath the blanket. Her hair was askew and her eyes were narrowed.

“What in the Maker’s asshole are you humming this early?” Hawke snapped.

“Bianca’s song, you know it.” Varric said easily.

“I fucking know Bianca’s song. That wasn’t it.” Hawke snorted, sitting up the whole way and pushing her hair from her face. “Any why the fuck are you in such a good mood?”

He had been humming Bianca’s song, hadn’t he? He stopped, thoughtfully, but Hawke was in no mood for his introspection. She tossed a pillow which he snatched out of the air before it could crash into the tray of breakfast.

“I never noticed how cranky you are in the morning, Hawke.” Varric lied smoothy. “Broody must have been making it seem less extreme in comparison.”

“Shut it.” Hawke groaned, flopping back down.

“C’mon, I brought you breakfast. There are strawberries, your favorite.” He swept the bowl of red fruit in front of her enticingly. Hawke finally opened her eyes widely and rubbed the sleep from them. Her eyes fixed on him for a moment and an expression of delight crossed her face.

“Andraste’s knickers, what happened to you?” She asked, sitting up straight.

“What are you talking about?” Varric asked warily, but Hawke was already crouching on the bed, blanket discarded, and reaching for him with her long arms. She pulled a blue flower from his buttonhole with a devious smirk. That’s when Varric realized he hadn’t buttoned up his shirt and he certainly hadn’t removed the flowers. He pulled away, looking down and beginning to do up the buttons, flowers dropping to the floor. “Fuck…” He swore.

“Yes. That’s exactly what it looks like.” Hawke looked as pleased as he’d ever seen her, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively enough to put Isabela to shame as she tucked the blue flower behind her own ear. “I’d be humming too, I guess. And here I was feeling guilty for stealing your bed.”

“I ate the ripest strawberries already. Because you’re an ass.” He glared disapprovingly at the humane girl, but she was simply beaming.

“But you missed me anyway.” She said sweetly. Varric hated to admit it, but her smile was infectious.

“Hardly at all.” He said, all mock seriousness. “I’ve taken up flower arranging in my free time now. Much safer hobby than following you.”

“Oh Varric, if it feels safe, Isabela would say you’re doing it all wrong.” Hawke teased. “Who’s the lucky lady who decked you in flowers and practically undressed you? Do I get to meet her? Do I need to defend your honor?”

“Please don’t.” Varric groaned.

“Is it the pretty Herald of Andraste?” Hawke asked. The lie didn’t come to Varric quite quick enough to get past Hawke and her eyes lit up. “Ooooooh, that explains your sudden fascination with religion.”

“She’s the Inquisitor now. And I have done nothing but engage in chivalrous and gentlemanly flirting.” Varric eyed Hawke from the corner of his eye as he turned and retrieved the coffee, pouring it into two mugs and passing one to Hawke.

“I know I’m the worst to give advice, but if she’s about ripping your clothes off, it may be worth it to be less gentlemanly.” Hawke observed astutely, sniffing the dark liquid suspiciously before taking a sip and making a face at the bitterness.

“It’s...complicated.” Varric said. Hawke sighed in disappointment.

“When isn’t it?” She asked. “Don’t tell me, she’s engaged.”

“No.” Varric couldn’t help but smile sadly. “Not this time.”

“Well, I’ll meet her first and see if she’s worth it.” Hawke declared imperiously, sitting the coffee as far away from her as humanly possible before standing and stretching. She fetched her rucksack from the floor and opened it, pulling out armor Varric hadn’t seen in years. Her hands ruffled the feathers along the neck gently with a wry smile.

“I’ve missed this set.” She admitted. “But it was so distinctive, Fenris worried…”

“He’s probably worried now.” Varric commented. She ignored him pointedly as she pulled out the chainmail and gauntlets, setting all the pieces out and observing them together, the way they used to hang in her home after Orana cleaned them. Varric felt the tightness in his throat when their eyes met.

“Almost like coming home, isn’t it?” She asked quietly.

“Just missing the gang.” Varric replied. “I’ll go get Maria. Meet me on top of the battlements above us when you’re ready.”

“Maria, hmm?” Hawke said softly. Varric shook his head and threw up his hands, backing out of the room slowly. Hawke’s laugh followed him out.

 

Maria was waiting in his usual spot in the great hall, feigning casual disinterest as she talked to Dorian. The Tevinter mage was gesturing wildly with a book in his right hand and Varric could hear something about how many times a certain Divine had taken a shit. Dorian hadn’t seemed to realize that Maria’s eyes kept swinging to the door and as soon as she saw Varric she carefully disentangled herself with some soothing words, guiding the mage back into the rotunda.

“What in the Maker’s name was that?” Varric asked.

“Apparently I need to find a rebellious archivist. Don’t ask for details. Is it time?” She asked eagerly.

“She’s as excited to meet you as you are to meet her.” Varric answered.

“Inquisitor, Lady Montilyet asked you to review these as your first convenience.” A woman pressed a folder into Maria’s hands and she nodded, opening it as they walked. Varric took her elbow and steered her around obstacles as she tutted.

“Don’t you ever stop?” He asked finally as they climbed the stairs and one of Leliana’s people presented her with a rolled message.

“Iron Bull put me in regular soldier’s armor and walked me around to meet people. It was the least amount of hassle I’d had getting from point A to B in weeks.” Maria answered with a smile as Varric guided her onto the battlement. “I could walk around in stealth, I suppose, but it seems a bit unfair.” She was unrolling the message, peering at it in the sunlight. Varric shook his head in resignation and looked up.

Hawke was on top of the stairs furthest from them, wearing the armor she’d been given as Kirkwall’s champion. Her head was tilted introspectively, hair braided smoothly over her shoulder as she stared at the Inquisitor. Varric felt oddly nervous as he turned to Maria, taking the folder and message from her hands and laying them on the barrel nearby.

“Inquisitor, may I present Hawke, the Champion of Kirkwall?” He asked, indicating Hawke as she began to move gracefully down the stairs. Gray eyes and blue eyes met and Hawke smiled, tentatively.

“I don’t use that title much, anymore.” She admitted.

“Hawke, meet Inquisitor Cadash.” Varric said smoothly. “Please feel free to offer any advice on Corypheus.”

Hawke chuckled, moving past them to lean on the battlements, looking out over the courtwall. She looked over her shoulder at Maria, beckoning her to her side with a jut of her chin. “You already dropped half a mountain on the bastard. I’m sure anything I can tell you pales in comparison.”

“We can find some use for you. You did stop a horde of rampaging qunari after all.” Maria said. Varric snorted and unscrewed the top off a suspicious looking bottle from one of the crates, sniffing it.

“Is there a horde of rampaging qunari now that I don’t know about?” Hawke asked incredulously. Maria smiled, shaking her head fondly.

“Just one, although he may qualify as a horde all by himself. He’s on our side.” She explained. “Varric says you thought you killed Corypheus?”

“I know I did. We weren’t amateurs at dealing with weird shit, even then. We left a corpse, I swear it.” Hawke protested. “He was being kept in a prison by the Grey Wardens, they’d used my father’s blood to hold him and came after Carver and me to release him. Maybe the Wardens had imprisoned because he couldn’t be killed, like his tie to the Blight made him immortal. He could control the Wardens, fucked with their minds…”

“Turned them against each other.” Varric interjected.

“So, you’re telling me Corypheus has this… Tevinter cult, Templars corrupted by red lyrium, and Wardens?” Maria asked levelly. “Lovely.”

“I would never just bring bad news to a dear friend of Varric’s.” Hawke began, cheerfully. “I have a contact in the Grey Wardens, I received a letter from him asking me to meet him in Crestwood. He has news about what is going on with them. He’s worried about corruption in the order.”

“Your brother?” Maria asked. Hawke looked startled, turning to Varric.

“She read the book. She’s a big fan.” Varric explained, taking an experimental sip of the liquor in the bottle. It burned on the way down.

“My brother is in Kirkwall, with Aveline.” Hawke explained cautiously. “He’s too junior in the order to know anything interesting, I’m afraid.”

“And…your, um…” Maria struggled, turned to Varric at a loss. Varric raised an eyebrow and Maria turned back to Hawke with a huff. “I’ve got a Tevinter mage here. Is it going to be a problem?”

Hawke coughed, turning to glare at Varric. “A Magister?” Hawke said flatly.

“No, apparently there’s a difference. Don’t ask me to explain it, but he saved my life in Redcliffe. I won’t send him away when he wishes to help.” Maria lifted her chin defiantly and Hawke crossed her arms over her chest. There was a tense silence before Hawke sighed, deflated.

“I can’t judge choice of companions, I suppose. I’ll keep peace and Fenris isn’t with me. He’d die for me and I don’t intend to give him the chance.” She said darkly. Maria nodded in agreement, leaning her back against the battlements beside Hawke, who was eying her from the corner of her eye.

“Did you really defeat the Arishok in single combat for Isabela?” Maria finally asked. Hawke laughed.

“Yes, I did. Did you really collapse a mountain on top of yourself and walk away?” Hawke asked.

“To be honest, it was more like limping away.” Maria admitted.

“Can I see it? The mark on your hand?” Hawke inquired. Maria gently peeled off her glove and offered her hand with glowing palm. Hawke removed her own gauntlets, letting them fall carelessly and taking Maria’s hand gently, running a finger along the mark. “It must hurt.” Hawke commented.

“Only when I laugh.” Maria teased, winking at Varric. Hawke looked up just in time to see it and smiled, satisfied.

“I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s like I can...feel the veil around it rippling. It’s amazing. No idea how it happened?” Hawke asked.

“The going theory is Andraste pushed my dwarven ass out of the fade with it.” Maria rolled her grey eyes and Hawke smirked.

“I’ve been wondering how Varric got into organized religion…” Hawke started. “But I’m guessing it’s more to do with very physical temptations.”

This conversation was about to be very, very dangerous. “Choir Boy would be absolutely wounded, Hawke, at you impugning my sincere piety.” Varric protested, but Maria shushed him with a laughing wave, standing on tiptoe to whisper something into Hawke’s ear. Hawke  laughed and Varric groaned apprehensively.

“Who is that spectacularly unhappy woman climbing up here?” Hawke asked, indicating a menacing figure coming up the steps. Maria leaned over the battlements and swore.

“So, Varric…” Maria began lightly.

“It’s Cassandra, isn’t it?” Varric asked.

“Take Hawke on a tour, hm?” Maria spun Hawke around. “Or to the war room, to mark on the map where we need to go. And then just...stay there for a while.”

“As you say, your Inquisitorialness.” Varric saluted and tugged Hawke with him. Hawke was laughing and cheerfully saluted as Varric broke into a run.

They didn’t stop until they were on almost the whole other side of Skyhold, Hawke holding her side and taking deep breaths between gales of laughter. “Well?” Varric asked, doubled over, catching his own breath.

“Maker, her tits are fantastic.” Hawke began, then dissolved into laughter again.


	23. The Lake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Broody elf broods while he recovers. Two messages arrive the same night.

 

Fenris has one immediate, visceral reaction. He gripped the ceramic plate nearest to him, felt it’s reassuring heft in his hand. Then he whipped it as hard as he could at the opposing wall, watched with a sort of detached curiosity as it shattered into hundred of pieces with a satisfying crash. He reached for the next plate, but was stopped by a very accusatory woof from the door. Instead, Fenris crashed his fist down onto the kitchen table, feeling the very real physical pain radiating from his knuckles, calming the storm raging in his head. 

Hawke was gone and Hawke couldn’t be gone. Hawke wasn’t thinking (Hawke never thought, he cursed internally). He picked up the note again, scanned it scornfully and wrinkled it into a ball. Sacrificed? Fenris had sacrificed nothing. Fenris regretted many things. He regretted following orders without question for his Master. He regretted obtaining pleasure from acts that had been forced upon him. He regretted the shame of his memories, he regretted leaving Hawke that first night. He regretted nothing that had come after...

 

_ Hawke in his mansion. Finally, his mansion. It was not Danarius’s, not any longer, because Danarius was dead. Hawke who had stood, covered in blood and gore, and promised him that he wasn’t alone as he’d watched his sister retreat after her betrayal. Hawke who was always there, and Fenris was...free.  _

_ She played with her braid as she curled up in a chair by the fire, asking if he was reminiscing about  the good old days of being hunted. And Fenris laughed at that, truly laughed. Her whole face brightened when he laughed and she looked up, blue eyes shining bright. The whole world outside was crumbling to ash, the city descending into chaos, but all Fenris could think was that she was beautiful, she’d always been beautiful. He leaned against the fireplace and studied her. Free men had futures, possibilities. He had nothing to offer now, but he could.  _

_ “Perhaps it is time to move forward.” He ventured. “I’m just...not sure where that leads. Do you?”  _

_ “Wherever it leads…” Hawke ducked her head down, refusing to meet his eyes. “I hope it means we stay together.”  _

_ Fenris allowed himself to hope. Perhaps… perhaps he hadn’t ruined this. Perhaps happiness was still in his grasp. He clutched the ribbon around his gauntlet as he had so many times in the last three years. She saw it and stared at his hands, unmoving.  _

_ “That is my hope as well. We have never discussed…” Fenris began.  _

_ “You didn’t want to talk about it.” Hawke interrupted, eyes flicking up to his face. “I didn’t want to force you to do anything.”  _

_ Only Hawke, he thought ruefully. Only Hawke would worry that he’d broken her heart and that she’d force something unpleasant on him. “I felt like a fool. I thought it better if you hated me. I deserve no less.” Fenris slipped from the wall, leaning over her in the chair, hand on both of the armrests. “But it isn’t better.”  _

_ “I could never hate you, Fenris.” She said softly. “Strangle you sometimes, yes, but hate you? Absolutely never.” Her eyes were steady on his, the glass of wine forgotten in her fingertips. She was smiling, always so quick with a smile.  _

_ “That night… I remember your touch as if it were yesterday.” Fenris admitted. “I should have asked your forgiveness long ago. I hope you can forgive me now.”  _

_ “But why?” Hawke asked, tipping her head to the side. “I need to understand why you left, Fenris. I felt...so used. So worthless.” Her voice was harsh with unshed tears. Fenris griped the arms of the chair until his fingers ached.  _

_ “I never meant to use you. You are not...you are worth more than anything. Gold, diamonds, kingdoms are nothing compared to you.” Fenris declared. “I’ve thought about why I left a thousand times. The pain...the memories it brought up. It was too much. I was a coward. If I could go back, I would stay. Tell you.” He swallowed, ripping away from the chair in agony and pacing back to the fireplace, leaving Hawke staring at his back. “Tell you how I felt.”  _

_ “What would you say?” Hawke asked so quietly it was almost lost to the echoes of the hall. He turned to look at her, longingly. Helpless in the face of her, her heart, her goodness, her awful jokes, her knack for healing broken people. And her eyes were shining with hope. Hope, after all this time.  _

_ “That nothing could be worse than the thought of living without you.” He answered. The glass finally slipped from Hawke’s fingers, crashing and breaking on his dirty floor. She covered her mouth instead of reaching for the shards. Fenris did not know what to do, could not fathom what to do.  _

_ “Please don’t do this to me again, Fenris.” She whispered, tears escaping her blue eyes. “I could hardly bear it the last time… I have wanted you every day and told myself I could never have you. Don’t lie to me again.”  _

_ “If you will have me, I am yours. Heart and soul and whatever worldly possessions you see fit to salvage from this place. He crossed the space between them, kneeling before her. She jerked and tried to raise him up immediately, but he resisted. “I am a man kneeling before the woman I love. A free man, a slave no longer, and free to kneel and present present my heart to the woman who has won it. I am free of him Hawke. I am free of my past.” He captured her wrists in his hands, gently, tenderly and brought her knuckles to his lips. “If there is a future to be had, I will walk into it gladly at your side.”  _

_ She finally ripped her hands free of his and threw them around his neck until they were both kneeling on crunched, broken glass in front of the chair. His lips found hers and he pulled her closer, memories of her touch, taste, pale imitations of the real thing. She was all heat and fire that warmed but never burned. His fingers clutched in her robes as he pulled her up, pulled away from her reluctantly. “Am I forgiven?” He asked, desperation making his voice rougher.  _

_ “I don’t know.” Her smile was lazy, wicked. His favorite of her smiles. “This could be fun to hold over you just a while longer.”  _

_ He laughed, swinging her into his arms with a heart that felt like it could fly freely from his chest. Her fingers cupped his cheek and she stared into his eyes breathlessly. “I love you.”  _

_ Love. Fenris was loved. Fenris wasn’t alone. The most beautiful, brilliant, compassionate woman in Thedas loved him. He was speechless, burying his face into her warm shoulder, inhaling her sweet scent as her fingers tangled in his hair. “Yours.” He whispered to her skin. “All yours.”  _

 

Nothing was worse than the thought of living without her. Nothing. He pushed away from the table, ignoring the broken plate and reaching for his armor. His fingers were thick, clumsy with disuse as he began to strap it on. He roughly snapped a clasp close and attempted to twist to clasp another, but the gesture left him dizzy. He grabbed onto the edge of the bedpost, sinking down into covers that still smelled like her and cursing steadily in Tevine. 

He didn’t manage to do that clasp, so he left it lose. It would be a problem if someone stabbed him in the back, but he would just stop them before that happened. Lucia watched skeptically as Fenris staggered across the room, packing a rucksack. He was out of breath before he’d managed to pack more than his sword polish. “Vehendis.” He growled, leaning heavily on a chair. He could almost hear Hawke berating him, that he’d undo all her careful work healing him. He could feel his side throbbing and when he touched it, it felt warm. 

He would never make it to her. The thought choked him, enraged him. It had taken him weeks to progress this far, how long would it take for the rest of his recovery? Could he even carry his sword? Fenris clenched his fists tightly, fighting a scream. She had left him because he was weak, vulnerable. He couldn’t protect himself, let alone her. With a sound that was almost a sob, Fenris dropped his head between his knees and twisted his hands through his hair. With a whimper, Lucia was there, head on his knee and mournful brown eyes looking up at him. He dropped one hand to pat her large head and she nudged him gently. 

Eventually, he moves and begins to eat, despite his lack of appetite. Then he begins to pace. Twenty-three steps across the room, twenty-three steps back. He does this until his side hurts too badly to continue, then does one more set. The pain felt better than the unbearable silence, felt better than his heart bleeding out in his chest. How could she, he thought as he fell to the bed, panting. When the pain stops, he gets up again. 

Three days passed before he left the shack with Lucia, flinching from the bright light. His muscles were less stiff than they had been, he made it almost to the shore of the lake before the pain became excruciating. He still dragged himself to the shore, sitting on a log almost in the water and gasping for breath. It would be harder going when he returned uphill, he reminded himself. Hawke had four days headstart now to wherever she had went. He closed his eyes and tried to focus on the sounds around him, crickets, the wind in the trees. But all he could do was repeat the note over and over again, in her voice. If I don’t come back…

He impatiently brushed the burning water from his eyes and stood, staggering back up the hill until the pain was enough to tear a scream from his mouth and he was forced to his knees in the thick, muddy soil. 

Four days later, he could walk to the lake without agony (soreness was ever present and irrelevant). His sword felt foreign in his hand and the weight unmanageable. He took his blade to a tree beside the shack, furious at the lack of strength in his own blows. He threw the blade down in disgust and fell to the ground, rubbing at his side in aggravation. He had waited long enough. Hawke had over a week on him now and he was counting on her being, as typical, shit at hiding. He’d had no news from the outside world. 

No use hurrying to kill yourself, he heard Hawke’s voice chiding him. He cursed at her voice in his head and Lucia raised her head at his aggravation, a bright dandelion sticking from the side of her mouth. Despite himself, Fenris felt his lips twitch. “A wardog and a foolish elf can get very far together, yes?” 

Lucia barked her agreement, tail wagging. Fenris stood and picked up the sword, centering himself. He had been created to be the perfect warrior, and would be again. Wryly, he thought he could thank Danarius for Fenris’s determination to make it through his brutal training regime.

The forms returned quickly, even though the strength would take longer. Fenris rolled his exhausted shoulder when he entered the shack, feeding Lucia and himself before collapsing into the bed that still smelled of Hawke.

 

_ His dream was no longer his own. He couldn’t remember what had come before, but he knew this place was not of his making. The grass beneath his bare feet was the softest he’d ever felt, he could smell honeysuckle and lavender. There were birds singing brightly, flying across the blue sky. A light breeze brought the sound of children laughing from a distant cottage. And between him and it… _

_ She was the red cloak thrown over muddy breeches and a blouse that was a bit too big on her small frame. She was seated in the grass, smiling brightly and hopefully at him. She raised her arms immediately, beckoning him. “Amatus! Fenris!” She called. “I’ve missed you!”  _

_ This was real, and it wasn’t. It wasn’t real because there was no pain and there’d been near constant pain for weeks, even if he suspected it was getting better. It was real because his memory wasn’t good enough to supply the details of Hawke’s face, including details he didn’t know, like a healing scratch on her cheek and palms scraped red.  _

_ “Hawke.” He said stiffly. Her smile faded and her arms dropped. “You brought me here.”  _

_ “I wasn’t sure I could… I didn’t think I’d be able to find you.” She admitted, plucking a strand of grass from the ground and twisting it. “I wanted to see you. I’ve been worried about you.”  _

_ “Worried about me.” Fenris repeated with a sneer. Hawke flinched. “You left, Hawke. Without a word, without a proper goodbye. Left me like I had become inconvenient.” He accused. _

_ “That isn’t it, and you know it!” She argued, standing. The wind gusted now, blowing her hair from her face as she steeled her hands on her hips. “I couldn’t risk…”  _

_ “It is not your decision to make.” Fenris growled. “Where are you?”  _

_ “Somewhere safe.” Hawke replied stubbornly, jutting her chin out in defiance. “Now how are you feeling?” _

_ “Fine.” Fenris retorted. They stared at each other for a tense moment before Hawke said something that sounded rather suspiciously like ‘fuck it’ and threw herself into his arms, her lips melding with his. And this… it wasn’t real, he reminded himself, because it felt real when he pulled her closer, wrapping her braid around his fingers.  _

_ “Tell me where you are.” He demanded in between her kisses.  _

_ “No. You need to stay safe.” She whispered against his skin, hand going to his side automatically, as if she could check his injuries through the fade. “You’re in much greater danger.”  _

_ “I cannot live without you. If something happens to you and I am not there…” Fenris trailed off. Hawke’s fists tangled in his shirt. _

_ “I won’t let you die for me.” She swore, eyes fiery in determination.  _

_ “I’m coming after you.” He promised. “And we will have words, Reyna. Words like we have never had.”  _

_ Hawke simply laughed, stroking his cheek. “I look forward to it, but where I’m going...you’ll never find me love. Just stay put. Please.”  _

_ He wanted to stay, to pull her back to him again, shake her maybe. Something was happening though, the edges of the world were shimmering, fading away. The last thing he saw was Hawke’s blue eyes staring up at him.  _

 

Lucia was growling at the door, hackles raised. Fenris rose quietly, grabbing his sword. Someone knocked again, unperturbed by the growling. Fenris crossed the room and opened the door just a crack. There was a skinny, long limbed elf in front of the door. “That’s a mabari there, ain’t it? Heard ‘em all the time in Denerim.” 

“Who are you?” Fenris asked. The elf held up her hands showing she was weaponless, although Fenris had already spotted two daggers on her back and a third strapped to her thigh. 

“Ivy.” She answered. “Ivy of the Inquisition, I guess. Listen, bird just said to stop on my way back from Denerim and give you this letter. I spent the last four hours walking around this lake looking for this blighted shack.” 

“Inquisition?” Fenris asked, opening the door wider. The girl didn’t move, but Lucia did. She barrelled past Fenris and shoved her nose into the stranger at the door. The girl laughed, scratching the dog’s ears. In the moonlight, Fenris could make out scars on the girls face. She saw him staring and smirked. 

“Venatori cultist!” She said proudly. “Bastard shot lighting at me, but I was too quick. Threw my knife at him and down her went. The Herald herself saw and said it was a good shot!” 

“Venatori?” Fenris repeated. That was a Tevinter word, something familiar. 

“Maker’s tits, you’ve been sleeping in this shack?” The elf girl asked, shaking her head. “Listen, the Venatori  attacked Haven with a darkspawn Magister, a dragon, and an army of templars infected with red lyrium. The Herald of Andraste fought them off single handedly and dropped a bloody mountain on ‘em then came back from the dead. She’s got a fortress in the Frostbacks now, and I’m workin’ for her spymaster to kick this Magister right back into the void.” She tapped her foot impatiently, crossing her arms over her chest. “And I need to get back to it, if ya don’t mind. I’m supposed to give this letter to an angry, glowing elf in a shack by Lake Calenhad. Is that you?” 

“Yes.” Fenris answered, holding out his hand. She cheerfully plopped the letter in his hand and sunk to her heels to coo at Lucia. Fenris ripped the seal off and his heart lightened at the familiar scrawl. Then he read the rest of the letter and felt himself smirk. 

“Good news then?” The girl asked. 

“Are you returning? To this…” He read the name on the letter. “Skyhold?” 

“Just for a minute, get a good drink and new orders.” She offered easily. 

“I’ll be joining the Inquisition myself. May I accompany you?” The girl looked at him suspiciously, then down at Lucia. 

“Only if the dog comes.” She stated emphatically. Fenris nodded his assent, turning to collect his gear. 

Ivy is from Denerim, Fenris learned, a city elf born and bred. She talked almost as much as Merrill, but the topics were more similar to those favored by Isabela. Through her, Fenris is able to learn much more about the so-called Inquisitor. “Cutter thinks she’s got a thing going on with that author, Tethras. He’s mooning after her all the time, but so is half the Inquisition. Course, they say Andraste was enough to turn the Maker’s eye so I guess she couldn’t send us an ugly Herald, right?” 

Fenris snorted. Well, that would explain why Varric wouldn’t leave. He clutched his side, feeling the pain building. “What’s a matter with you?” The girl asked, crossing her arms. “I can feel you slowin’ down here.” 

“I was injured. It is nothing.” Fenris pushed on, but only a few moments later, the woman was insisting the moonlight was no longer enough to travel by and flopping onto the ground.

“I can still see.” Fenris protested. The woman smirked she she shut her eyes, wrapping herself in her cloak. 

“Well, go on then. I’ll catch up in the morning.” She yawned, loudly. And before Fenris could protest more, she was snoring. 

“Lovely.” Fenris muttered, laying down in the grass. Lucia laid down beside him, resting her head on his chest. “Soon, girl.” He whispered. “We’ll find her soon.” 

Lucia licked his chin gently and her tail thumped on the ground twice. Fenris allowed himself to drift off. 


	24. Gambling on Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maria is reminded of something terrible. A Grey Warden is found. The gang kill a dragon. Cassandra corners Varric. Maria gets drunk. (Long chapter is long)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mildly NSFW at the end.

“I have mud in places it is certainly not supposed to be.” Hawke complained as her boot sunk into the mud, again.

“At least you don’t keep hitting your head on these damn ceilings. Vashedan…” Bull grumbled, ducking his horns again. Varric sighed and shook his head. It should have been a simple enough thing, really, and Maria was thrilled to have something to do besides paperwork. They’d taken off chasing Hawke’s lead the day after her arrival and arrived in Crestwood the next day. Unfortunately, they found a lake crawling with undead and a spiraling rift between them and the Warden. Hawke had simply sighed and shook her head. Maria crossed her arms and had glared at the damn thing. Ideas were tossed about for closing it before the Mayor rather reluctantly admitted there were dam controls that had been destroyed by Darkspawn, causing the whole village to be flooded. 

What a damn sorry way to go, Varric thought. Maria had paled considerably at the thought, but they trudged up to Caer Bronach and cleared out the bandits, then found a room full of remarkably pristine dam controls. “Suspicious.” Bull had commented. Maria’s lips had thinned into a rather severe line that continued to get thinner when she found a rather suspicious letter in the Mayor’s old house. 

Now, she was striding determinedly into Dwarven ruins trying to find their way back to the surface, mud sticking to her boots and not even bothering to comment on the complaining and bickering going on behind them. Something was very wrong, and Varric had a sinking suspicion she’d come to the same conclusion he had. Someone had drowned the poor sods to prevent the blight from spreading, killing everyone. Something like that had happened somewhere else during the blight, but Varric couldn’t remember where…

“This door’s locked.” Hawke said, shoving uselessly against it. 

“Perhaps you should try charming it.” Dorian offered. Varric winced, he’d told Maria that it was a mistake bringing Dorian and Hawke, but she’d shrugged and said it was best to get it out of their systems right away. Varric saw no sign of the vitriol leaving anyone’s system anytime soon. 

“Excellent idea, if that doesn’t work you can enslave it.” Hawke scowled over her shoulder. Bull absolutely didn’t help the situation by snickering. 

At the beginning of this little misadventure, Maria had broken it up quite handily. But instead, she knelt in front of the door, ignoring Dorian when he offered blood magic sarcastically as another solution. Hawke replied it would be his blood they were using. 

“Children.” Varric sighed, watching Maria’s hands shake as she attempted to pick the lock. “Princess, I think your picks are blunted. Let me.” Varric offered, kneeling beside her. 

“I can do it.” Maria gritted her teeth and he laid a warm hand on her cold, mud spattered shoulder. 

“I know.” He answered. “But you don’t have to. Let me.” 

She dropped her arms with a huff and Varric deftly inserted his own picks into the lock, waiting to hear the satisfying click as the latch fell open. He shoved it open with his shoulder and bowed, waving Maria in. That did get a smile, a small one. “I can feel a draft.” She observed. She was right, Varric felt it too. They set off, shoulder to shoulder, as Hawke and Dorian’s snarking got lost in the background. One family of nugs and three ladders later, they were outside staring at the sun. 

“Thank the Maker, I may finally dry out.” Hawke groused, rubbing her skinned palms on her leggings. 

Dorian opened his mouth to say something, but Varric glared daggers at him as Maria took off at a brisk walk. “I think the cave is the other way!” Hawke yelled from behind them, scurrying to catch up. 

“I have something I need to clear up first.” Maria answered, voice flat and calm. Varric could see her fist clenched tightly around her bow, the fire flashing in her eyes. She stormed towards the village while they stared at her back. 

“Any idea what’s going on here, Varric?” Bull asked, tone falsely light. Varric shrugged hopelessly. 

“No damn idea, but she’s on the warpath.” Varric observed. “We should probably try to contain the damage, for Ruffles sake.” 

The group exchanged glances before picking their way down the hillside. They only managed to catch up to Maria thanks to her short stride. They followed quietly as Maria ignored the cheerful, exultant crowd showering praise on their Herald, their Inquisitor. Josephine would be devastated at the missed opportunity for good will, particularly when Maria was typically so good at garnering it. 

She didn’t stop when she reached the Mayor’s cottage. Her hands flew to the knob and wrenched it open. Varric wouldn’t have been terribly surprised if she ripped the whole thing off of it’s hinges. She stormed in, eyes scanning every nook and cranny. “He’s gone, boss.” Bull observed. “Look at the state of the place, he left in a hurry.” 

Maria made her way to the bed, picking things up off the nightstand. “I want him found.” She muttered, darkly. With a shrug, the rest of the group spread out to search the cottage. It was Hawke who found the note, perching on the edge of the desk as she began to read it aloud. Hawke’s voice grew steadily more angry, but it was nothing to the color draining slowly from Maria’s face. Varric watched her as she seemed to shrink in on herself. 

“That bastard.” Hawke finally cursed, throwing the paper down. “All those people… he should be…” 

“Get out.” Maria said, suddenly, coldly. Four sets of eyes swivelled to her. 

“Vishante kaffas, are you alright?” Dorian asked, stepping forward. Maria stepped backward, shaking her head. 

“Out.” she replied emphatically. “Get out.” 

“Right.” Hawke pushed away from the desk, grabbing the other mage by the back of his collar. “You heard the lady. Leave her be.” 

“Get your filthy…” Dorian began to struggle as Hawke shoved him from the cabin. Iron Bull followed slowly, ducking out the door and leaving the two dwarves alone. 

“Maria…” Varric said slowly, hands out like he was approaching a wounded animal. 

“Get out Varric, don’t touch me.” She drew back. Varric stilled, leaving his hands where they were as she turned her back to him, staring at the shelves in front of her. She reached out suddenly, pushing books and assorted carved figures onto the floor, glass shattering from a vase. 

“I’m very good at destroying property if you want help.” Varric offered lightly. 

“All those people! He didn’t...couldn’t even know that they were all sick. And even if they were… to drown them like that when they needed care. How can people be so cruel?” She asked, sinking to her knees and cradling her head in her hands. Sobs wracked her body and she swore, rubbing tears from her face. Varric sank down beside her, hands still open and empty despite a fresh longing to pull her close and make that heartwrenching sound stop.

“What happened, Princess?” Varric asked. “During the blight, you lost someone. Seems this brought it all back.” 

“I can’t. I can’t talk about it.” She sobbed. “I’m sorry, I can’t.” Varric nodded.

“That’s alright. I just needed to know I was on the right track.” He said softly. “It’s over, Princess. You can’t save those people, but you saved this whole damn village. We’ll have your people track down that bastard and we’ll cart him off to Skyhold for you. You can lock him up, cut off his head, send him down to the Deep Roads, whatever you want, whatever you think will give those poor sods justice.” 

“It won’t bring them back though.” Maria whispered, staring down at her own gloved hands. “They’re gone. He murdered them, and they’re gone.” 

“No.” Varric agreed. “It won’t.” Maria’s sobbing began again and Varric sighed. He held out his hand in invitation until she took it and he ran his thumb over her knuckles soothingly. “C’mon, Princess. Let’s trash this place. It’ll make you feel better.” 

She chuckled, rubbing the back of her hand across her eyes fiercely before standing and grabbing a poker from the fireplace, tossing it to him as she hefted a woodcutter’s ax with a vicious smile. 

“Five sovereigns says I can break down this desk before you can shred the comforter.” She swung the ax experimentally twice and Varric laughed. 

“I’ll take that bet, Princess.” He winked. “I’ve always been good at anything involving a bed.” 

 

A half hour later, they emerged rather more cheerfully from the Mayor’s cottage. Remarkably, it was still standing despite Maria taking the ax to the walls more than once. He was five sovereigns poorer, but he couldn’t quite regret it. Emerging into the light, Varric quickly spotted Hawke, Dorian, and Bull uphill. Hawke was sitting cross legged on the ground, cards fanned out in her hand. Across from her, Bull was picking up a card and adding it to his hand. Dorian was leaning against a stone wall, watching them. When Hawke looked up and saw them she smiled and waved cheerfully. 

“Now, what did we always tell you about gambling with the Qunari?” Varric asked Hawke. 

“Varric, you know I don’t listen to a thing you say.” Hawke said with an eyebrow lifted. “Dorian thought you were managing our Inquisitor’s stress in inventful and erotic ways.” 

Varric laughed and Maria crossed her arms over her chest, challenging Dorian with a playful glare. Dorian shrugged. “So...that would be a no then?” He asked. 

Maria rolled her eyes and Dorian swore, reaching into his pocket and pulling out several silver coins. He passed them to Hawke and she pocketed them happily. 

“You bet against me?” Varric asked, aghast. 

“I bet that you were a gentleman.” Hawke smiled sweetly. “Don’t worry, I’ll give you a cut.” 

“You better.” Varric grumbled as Iron Bull swept up the cards. 

They skirted around the rest of the village as they searched for the cave. The first cave they entered was full of spiders, which had both Hawke and Maria screaming, then laughing together as Hawke lit them on fire. 

“I hate them.” Hawke confessed. 

“So much.” Maria agreed fervently, brushing her red hair from her eyes. Dorian was making retching sounds as he pulled burning spider from his robes. 

“Savages!” He cried out, heading for the water. Maria followed, laughing and catching his elbow soothingly. Hawke smirked. 

“You didn’t have to aim for him.” Varric chided. Hawke’s smirk turned into a full fledged grin. 

“I would never do such a thing.” Hawke protested. “Besides, I’d rather talk about whatever happened in the village.” 

“She lost someone to the Blight. That’s all I know.” Varric shrugged, watching as the dwarf leaned down and splashed water towards Dorian. 

“Well, I can understand that.” Hawke said softly. “She’s as good with her bow as Sebastian, but she’s much more fun.” 

“Hawke, I can think of loads more fun things than Choir Boy.” Varric remarked. Hawke giggled, watching as the Inquisitor rounded Dorian back up and brought him back to the cave. 

“Well, let’s try to get one without spiders next time, yes?” Maria asked. 

“We have to be close.” Hawke agreed, following after her. Varric watched as they joined at the hip and Hawke leaned down to whisper something in Maria’s ear. Maria laughed and looked slyly over her shoulder. 

“That looks like trouble.” Iron Bull observed. “Some of the best kind, but still, trouble.” 

“Women and spiders.” Dorian sputtered. “She’ll shoot a demon in the eye but a spider comes out and she’s up on the nearest rock letting that beast shoot flaming spider bits all over my robes.” 

“I’m not sure who was squealing louder, you over your robes or her over the bugs.” Iron Bull laughed. Varric joined in and the women both shook their heads in exasperation in front of them.

Maria and Hawke found another cave and entered it much more cautiously. There wasn’t enough room for Maria’s bow to be much use, practically, so she had her dagger out. There was a fire burning in the center of the room, so Varric just had time to make out the shadow materializing on her flank. Bianca was already in his hands when he heard the metallic scratch of a sword being drawn from a scabbard. The noise made Maria turn, dagger in hand, but the sword was already pointing at her throat. 

“Stop! It’s just us.” Hawke yelled from the left, rushing forward. “I brought the Inquisitor.” 

The sword dropped immediately, the shadow stepping forward. “The Inquisitor? I am sorry, my lady.” Varric recognized the mustache immediately.

“Stroud! How’ve you been?” He asked. 

“Better days are in my past, my friend.” Stroud replied, exhausted. 

“Don’t worry, I’d have nicked that mustache first before you got my throat.” Maria replied cheekily, sliding her dagger away. “Hawke said you’d asked her to meet you here. She feared it could have something to do with Corypheus.” 

“Corypheus.” Stroud said darkly, slipping his sword back into its scabbard. “Yes. When my friend, Hawke, slayed Corypheus the Grey Wardens at Weisshaupt considered the matter closed. I, however, was not so easily convinced.” Stroud paced back and forth, running his hand through his mustache.

“I started my own investigation and had revealed clues that indicated Corypheus was more archdemon than darkspawn. Before I could continue, every Grey Warden in Orlais began to hear the Calling.” 

“Maker!” Hawke exclaimed, going pale. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“My first thought was to find Warden Amell, your cousin. However, when I arrived in Ferelden all the Grey Wardens there had vanished. The rumor is Nathaniel Howe, acting commander in Ferelden, received orders from Weisshaupt he refused to obey but I couldn’t find him to verify it.” Stroud shook his head. 

“Every Grey Warden thinks they’re dying...and Corypheus put this calling in their head?” Hawke asked. 

“Is the Calling they’re healing real, or is it something Corypheus put there?” Maria asked sharply.

“It matters not, the Wardens believe it is real. They will act accordingly.” Stroud said. 

“There’s nothing more dangerous than a powerful animal that is trapped, scared, and desperate. Is that was Corypheus wants?” Maria mused. 

“There is something occuring in the Western Approach. A gathering. Whatever the Wardens plan, they will do it there.” Stroud offered. 

“Oh, good.” Dorian began. “Sand.” 

“We have to get to the Wardens.” Hawke pleaded. “If we don’t stop them, they’ll play right into Corypheus’s hands. I set him loose, I can’t let anyone else get hurt for my mistake.” 

“We set him loose.” Varric corrected gravely. 

“Right. Back to Skyhold then.” Maria sighed.

“Boss, wait…” Iron Bull said, eyes gleaming. “People in the village said there was a dragon stealing cattle and threatening farmers. We can’t in good conscience leave it to prey on these people.” 

“A dragon?” Maria deadpanned. Bull nodded emphatically.

“Yeah, a real fucking dragon! We gotta kill it.” He said, like a child pleading for a present or a later bedtime. 

“We do not need to kill it.” Dorian pointed out. 

“Well...if it is threatening the village, we kind of do.” Maria answered with a shrug. “I’ve never fought a dragon before.” 

“I have!” Hawke volunteered, eyes shining brightly. 

“Yes.” Varric ground his teeth together and fought back the rising migraine. “And your Broody elf was extremely upset about it.” 

“What he doesn’t know.” Hawke said airily. “Stroud, will you join us?” 

“In such wonderful company, how could I decline the sport?” He said with a wry smile. 

 

The two women were scared of spiders, but neither of them flinched from a dragon. Hawke was absolutely gleeful, casting spells that bounced off the dragon’s hide and whooping in exhilaration every time she rolled out from under its tail. There was a bleeding scratch on her cheek and she had rubbed the blood over her nose, just like she had right before she took on the damned Arishok. Big damn heroes, Varric grumbled. In front of him, Iron Bull battered away at the creature’s legs with the same excitement while Dorian cast barrier after barrier over him, barely getting time in for his own magic to shoot out and attack. Stroud was much smarter, dodging and weaving. He’d lost track of Maria temporarily, but he could see her now climbing up the old ruins overlooking the lake. Her leather armor was ripped on the right side, but she wasn’t bleeding. She pulled an arrow from her quiver, a different one than she usually used and drew the bowstring taut. 

The dragon roared and swiped at Iron Bull, knocking him back. It reared it’s ugly head and made to pounce, but Varric’s bolt drew it’s attention. Unfortunately, Varric appeared to have gotten himself trapped between it and the cliff edge. 

Here lies Varric Tethras, he eulogized internally, sucker for pretty eyes and a fine figure. He reloaded Bianca quickly, shooting another rather ineffectual bolt as the dragon opened it’s maw, lightning sparking in between yellowed teeth. 

A flask of Antivan fire landed rather uselessly against the dragon’s scales, but it was enough to drag the dragon’s attention from him. It turned quickly, leaving the tail to lash out viciously behind it. Varric attempted to dodge, but he didn’t have enough room. The only blessing was that it swept him further away from the cliff, knocking him to the ground so hard he heard a sharp snap and felt shooting pain in his right arm. He groaned and sat up quickly. He could barely see past the dragon, only a flash of red hair really. The dragon was moving towards her, and it occurred to him she’d thrown the flash. Now she waited, unflinching, as the dragon rolled towards her. 

His heart caught in his throat and time slowed. Then it exploded, literally. An arrow flew into the open maw of the dragon and whatever explosive mechanism was on it caused it to burst, causing the dragon’s head to fall from it’s burst throat, jaw still sparking with electricity. Iron Bull cheered, hefting his axe over his own bleeding skull. “YEAH BOSS!” He cried as the dragon’s body fell. 

Stroud was beside him, offering a hand. Varric gently tossed Bianca over his shoulder and pulled himself up with the arm that wasn’t on fire and twisted at an impossible angle. “I’m afraid it may be broken, my friend.” Stroud observed. 

“Yeah.” Varric said through gritted teeth. “Definitely something wrong with it.” 

Bull was at the ruin now, offering his arms to help Maria down. Her feet were no sooner on the ground than she was running to him. Hawke was ambling, much less concerned, cracking jokes with Dorian as they approached. If she didn’t fucking hurry, Varric was going to take her damn staff and crack her over the head with it. 

“Are you hurt?” Maria asked, concern coloring her voice. “Is it your arm?” 

“Yes, shit shit.” Maria was undoing his own armor, pulling his jacket open. Iron Bull whistled and Hawke burst into laughter. “Gentle, Princess. It does hurt.” 

“Maybe she can kiss it better.” Hawke teased as she bent to examine it with a smirk. “I can leave it broken if you’d like to play the martyr.” 

“Does it always take you this long to heal injuries?” Maria asked incredulously. Hawke laughed, rolling up her sleeves. 

“Please, he’s gotten worse than this tromping through Darktown.” She said, winking at Varric as she knelt and examined the arm. “Gotta pop this back together Varric, ready?” 

“Get it over with, Hawke.” Varric groaned. 

“Right.” Hawke nodded. Maria was watching Hawke’s hands, worrying her own bow in her hands as Hawke worked. She moved his broken bones and Varric clenched his teeth shut with an audible click. Then the soothing warmth of healing magic slipped into his muscles and he was able to relax, watch Maria watching Hawke, see the blue light of magic reflected in her gray eyes. She was biting at her bottom lip, waiting anxiously. Varric could feel aches he didn’t even realize he had fading. One thing he could say about Hawke, she was always quite thorough. 

He looked over at Hawke and found her watching him, wistfully. Varric knew he’d been caught out, that Hawke who had always seen through him had seen more than he meant her to. She smiled softly as the light around her fingers dimmed, pulling back. “There, anything else broken?” 

“Don’t think so.” Varric didn’t meet her gaze as he flexed his fingers, testing. 

“Good.” Hawke said, satisfied. He had a feeling they weren’t talking about his arm anymore. 

“Boss, can we take the head back to Skyhold?” Iron Bull asked, excitedly. “I want all the Chargers to see.” 

 

Cullen was less than amused when they rolled into Skyhold two days later trailing a dragon head behind them. He spent nearly forty-five minutes lecturing Maria, who took it with an amused grace, about proper protocols and safe dragon hunting. Finally, she pinched his cheek and told him he was such a mother hen. Then she ordered him to find the Mayor of Crestwood and took off to check on Cole and Sera who were both still recovering from the infamous flower crown incident. 

Leliana had secrets, blackmail, and murder to discuss. Josephine had alliances, marriages, and parties to plan. They stole Maria as soon as they were back, leaving Hawke to deal with the banter that had sprung up between Dorian and Hawke. Their attitude was much improved since the dragon, something about mutually admiring their complicated fade shit. Dorian’s barriers were so flexible, Hawke’s flames were so elegant. Of course, every other word was still an insult, but they were both insufferably vain and ate up the compliments. 

He was sadly almost grateful when Cassandra finally managed to get him alone, despite the fact that her first move was to shove him against the banister in the armory. 

“You knew where Hawke was all along!” Cassandra accused. 

“You’re damned right I did!” Varric said, pushing her away.

“You conniving little...shit!” Cassandra threw a punch and Varric ducked under her. Cassandra’s eyes flashed brilliantly, dangerously.

“You kidnapped me! You interrogated me! What did you expect?” Varric asked. 

“Hey! Enough!” He hadn’t heard her come in, maybe she had started sneaking around in stealth. Maria was standing at the stairs like she’d heard everything, chin raised imperiously. 

“You’re taking his side?!” Cassandra exclaimed. 

“I said, enough!” Maria said, tossing down the chainmail in her hand. 

“We needed someone to lead this inquisition. We looked for the Hero of Ferelden, but she’d vanished. Then we looked for Hawke, but she was gone too. We thought it all connected, but no, it was you. You kept her from us!”

“Hawke, lead the Inquisition?” Maria asked dubiously. Varric had to admit she had that one pegged. 

“The Inquisition has a leader, and a damned fine one.” Varric indicated Maria. 

“Hawke would have been at the conclave, if anyone could have saved the Most Holy…” Cassandra wasn’t paying attention, didn’t see Maria’s face fall just a bit. 

“I hardly think Varric’s responsible for the Conclave explosion, Cassandra. Hawke may not have even made it in time, even if he did tell you.” She said gently. “I understand you’re still grieving, but…” 

“Varric is a liar, Inquisitor. A snake! Even after the conclave, when we needed Hawke most, Varric kept her a secret.” Cassandra accused. 

“She’s here now! We’re all on the same side.” Varric lifted his hands, exasperated. 

“We all know whose side you’re on Varric. It will never be the Inquisition’s.” Cassandra growled, turning away.

“I think Varric has earned his right to be here, Cassandra.” Maria said, a little cooler. 

“Thank you!” Varric exclaimed. Cassandra made a disgusted noise in her throat. 

“You would say that.” Cassandra said, leaning over the banister. Maria sighed. 

“Perhaps you should go, Varric.” Maria said with a shake of her head.

“I’m on your side.” Varric swore, more passionately now. “I brought Hawke here because…”

“I know.” Maria said, patting his shoulder and gently steering him away. “Trust me.” 

“You know what I think?” Varric said, turning back to Cassandra. “If Hawke had been at that temple… she’d be dead too. You people with your holy wars and higher causes...you’ve done enough to her.” 

“Varric…” Maria cajoled, bringing him to the steps. 

“They’ll do it to you.” Varric predicted, shoulders slumping, pushing his hand through his hair. “They’ll do it to you too.” 

“Maybe.” She said quietly, with a smile. “But I’m a Carta princess, remember? Now go.” 

Outside, Hawke was waiting, arms crossed. “I heard it get heated. I couldn’t decide if it was better to interrupt or leave it up to her.” 

“She’ll handle it.” Varric said, shoving his hands in his pockets. “We’d better lay low though, just in case Cassandra feels like punching something.” 

“I like her. Quite a lot, actually.” Hawke said. 

“Cassandra?” Varric asked but Hawke simply smiled. 

“Don’t play dumb with me, you know I won’t believe it. She told me we’re off to the Western Approach in two days. You’ll be accompanying us?” Hawke asked, scratching her boot in the dirt.

“Wouldn’t miss it, Waffles.” Varric said with a sigh. “Crazed wardens, darkspawn, maybe a red templar or two. Sounds like a perfect Tuesday.” 

 

Varric didn’t see Cassandra or Maria the rest of the day. In fact, he didn’t feel like it was safe to venture out of his room with Hawke until it was dark. Hawke was insistent on getting a drink, and Varric never could say no. That’s when they literally ran into Sera very awkwardly supporting Maria as they stumbled through the door. 

“Oh good!” Sera said, untangling herself from Maria’s arms. “Tag, you’re it.” 

“Wait, what happened?” Varric asked, amused as the normally very graceful woman stumbled and latched onto Hawke’s proffered arm. 

“Quizzy is drunker than a beggar on a feast day, she is. That’s what she gets for drinkin’ with a qunari, ain’t it?” Sera explained with a shrug. “I’m gonna go back to drinkin’, ain’t carryin’ her up all those stairs.” 

“What were you drinking?” Hawke asked, laughing. 

“To dragons!” Maria laughed, swinging her arms around Hawke’s waist. “I am a fan, y’know. Very big fan. Read your book a dozen times. Love the part where you tried to help Aveline flirt with that guardsman.” 

“I’m sure Aveline is thrilled that made it into the book.” Hawke commented. 

“Can Isabela really do that thing with her tongue?” Maria asked. 

“So I’ve heard.” Hawke replied easily. 

“You know, Tiny is much bigger than you.” Varric said. “Not to mention I’m pretty sure whatever he drinks could light a person on fire.” 

“Varric!” Maria chimed brightly, letting go of Hawke and tottering back almost into Sera. She giggled and she sounded...young. Sera pushed her away playfully, straight into Varric. Maria’s arms went around his neck, her body pressed up against his. 

“Brilliant. You take care of the fearless leader, I’ll get to know this rather interesting elf better.” Hawke was smirking from ear to ear. 

“Pft, you’re all mage fingers, aren’t ya? You keep that away from me, even if you are pretty.” Sera eyed Hawke narrowly, but Hawke was as charming as ever. 

“Very pretty.” Hawke said. “And very capable of not lighting anything on fire while drunk. I’ll tell you embarrassing stories about Varric.” She finished, wheedling. That was all it took, Sera was dragging her into the tavern and Varric and Maria was alone. 

“C’mon Princess, let’s see if we can’t sneak you up to your room.” Varric said, placing an arm snugly around her waist. 

“We can go back to yours.” Maria offered, pressing her nose against his bare neck. Varric laughed, even as desire stirred very traitorously in his stomach. 

“Bad idea.” He said, nudging her gently toward the main keep. “Hawke’s sleeping there too and she kicks in her sleep.” 

“We didn’t give her a room of her own?” Maria asked incredulously. “I’ll fix it. Tomorrow.” 

“Not jealous?” Varric asked lightly. Bianca had been a bit jealous of Hawke, so much so Varric had tried to avoid mentioning her in letters when possible. It didn’t help their one and only meeting had gotten off to a very rough start when the two of them had run into Hawke’s estate with Carta assassins on their tails. Maria only huffed and threw her red hair over her shoulder with a sultry smile. 

“Her legs are far too long. Humans and their outrageous limbs, how do they manage?” Varric chuckled shaking his head. 

They were making their way, mostly silent, through the main hall. Blessedly, it was empty besides some of Cullen’s soldiers. They’d almost made it to the door before Maria spoke again, turning to nuzzle back into his neck. “Besides, you’re not mine to claim, are you?” Maria asked, tone falsely light. 

Varric fumbled the doorknob and the sound seemed unnaturally loud. Cursing, he pulled it open and pushed her inside before slinking in after her. Compared to the hall, her stairway was shadowed and dark. He couldn’t see her face, but he could feel her warmth, her breath stirring across his chin. He reached for her blindly, hands finding her hip. “What if I was?” He asked, fingers reaching up, tucking a silky strand of hair behind her ear. 

She lurched forward, hands capturing his face and pulling his lips to hers. He tried to resist only for a moment before her taste overwhelmed him. She tasted like whatever burning alcohol Bull had been pouring down her throat, but also like honey and something else that caused all his muscles to tighten with desire. Her fingers were on his chin, rubbing against his stubble with their calloused fingertips. One hand travelled back to his hair, gripping the tie and pulling it loose, letting his hair fall free around his face. A little moan formed in her mouth, and Varric stole it greedily, pulling her against him, fingers digging into the curve of her hips. She shivered in anticipation and Varric felt his control fraying. He pulled away, desperately. 

“Maria…” He whispered. 

“That was exactly as good as I thought it’d be.” Maria whispered back, her hands still tangled in his hair. She swayed against him, pressing hard. 

“You’re drunk. I can’t…” Varric groaned as she rubbed against him, he caught a glimpse of her teeth in a broad grin. “Damnit.” He swore, tugging her up the steps. 

It was even more difficult now, her hands were wandering with every unsteady step and she was laughing, kissing exposed skin on his neck, clever hands undoing every button she could reach. By the time Varric had her up in her plush room, Varric could have sworn she was a desire demon. He settled her to the bed and she tried to pull him down with her. She almost succeeded, Varric just caught himself on the headboard. 

“I want you.” She whispered against his bare chest, lips trailing down his chest hair. “Please.” 

“Not like this. Not drunk.” Varric pulled away leaving his skin cold where had touched it. He hoped she would remember this, how hard it was to wrench himself away from her. He deserved a fucking commendation, a knighthood. “When you’re in your right mind. When the world isn’t fucking falling apart.” 

She was pouting, gray eyes burning seductively as she reached out. Varric took her hand in his, bending down to kiss the back of it. “You know heroes don’t get happy endings.” Maria observed. “Let me have this.”

“You will.” Varric promised, chastely and quickly kissing her forehead. “You will, I promise Princess.” 

He backed out of the room without another word, nearly stumbled down the steps and paused at the bottom, head resting on the heavy wooden door. He remembered to do up the buttons, to pull his hair back, but nothing could disguise his thumping heart, the erection straining in his trousers. He debated taking himself in hand and finishing right here to the thoughts of her pliant curves, her warm lips and clever tongue. Instead he waited, struggling to master himself. When finally he felt composed enough, he exited the Inquisitor’s room. The cold air was bracing as he slipped across the courtyard, back to the tavern. Sera and Hawke were throwing knives at a target on the far side of the wall, but they both turned when the door opened. Sera shook her head in disbelief, throwing coins at Hawke’s feet before storming off. 

“You bet against me, again?” Varric asked incredulously as Hawke bent to pick up the silver coins. 

“I’m making a small fortune on it, yes.” Hawke replied with a careless shrug and a quick smile. “Don’t act all high and mighty, I know about you and Isabela betting on Fenris and me. Besides, I was betting on you being a gentleman. You’re welcome.” 

Varric crossed his arms and held out his hand. Cheerfully, Hawke dumped half the coins into his hand. “Looking a bit flushed though.” She observed. “Maybe I should find a different room tonight?” 

“I will find Curly and tell him that it was you who kept sending all those rotten eggs to the Gallows.” Varric threatened. Hawke smirked and rolled her eyes, sauntering to the bar. Varric shook his head, exhaling. Maker’s balls, these women would be the death of him. 


	25. Tevinter Heroes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris learns about his own personal legend and finally makes it to Skyhold.

The next morning, Fenris and Ivy packed up and continued their trip. When Fenris asked how long the trip would take, she shrugged cheerfully and stopped whistling long enough to grin at him. “Long as it takes! First, there’s a boat near here somewhere. Saw it on my way to find your cranky ass. Then we row across the lake and take Gherlen’s Pass. There’s a road that shoots off and takes you right to Skyhold. Should be cleaned up well enough now to get there in two days if the weather isn’t shite in the mountains. Course, that’s if you can keep up old man.” 

“Vishante Kaffas.” Fenris growled at her. She laughed.

“Perite!” She responded with a wink. This silenced Fenris for a moment. 

“You...you speak Tevene?” He asked respectfully. She sniggered. 

“Mostly the curses and the ass kissing parts. Yes master, no master, that shite.” She said, turning to face him and walking backward over the ground. 

“You weren’t born there. Your accent is atrocious.” Fenris observed.

“Thank the bloody maker or creators or our Lady Herald, whoever. No, I was twelve in Denerim during the Blight and Teyrn Loghain...” She sneered his name. “Decided to sell off some elves and fund his civil war. You know how it is, nobody misses a couple of knife ears from the alienage. I heard the Hero of Ferelden came and put a stop to it, but it was too late for me and two dozen other bastards. We were halfway to Tevinter and nobody had time to send a damn rescue party with darkspawn knockin’ on the door.” 

“I’m sorry.” Fenris apologized. She stiffened, turning quickly on her heel. 

“Don’t feel sorry for me.” She sniffed. “ _ I  _ got out. Six years later when the Master got handsy, I took my chances. Didn’t stop running till I reached Denerim again. If you gotta pity someone, feel bad for all the fucks who can’t get out.” 

Fenris had to admit she had a point. Slowly, her paces shortened and she matched his. Fenris could tell she was staring at him from the corner of her eye. It wasn’t something he was unused to, the markings were distinctive, but it still made him uncomfortable. “Can I help you?” He said, turning his own glare to her. 

“They talk about you, y’know. It’s why Nightingale sent me to deliver that letter from the dwarf. She didn’t think I’d be scared of you.” Ivy remarked. 

“Who talks about me?” Fenris snapped. Ivy, irritatingly, giggled. 

“Everyone in Tevinter! The slaves can’t believe you killed two Magisters and all the hunters they sent after you. You’re almost a myth! And the Magisters absolutely forbid anyone talking about you, of course that doesn’t stop anyone, but I did see someone get their tongue ripped out for it once.” She exclaimed. “You’re as famous in the north as your mage-lady is down here. She’s your sidekick in all the stories, the southern apostate swooning helplessly at the heels of the freed slave, love conquering magic, blah blah…” Ivy did a fair impression of a swooning damsel. Hawke would be utterly enjoying this demonstration if she were here. 

“You cannot be serious.” Fenris stated. 

“I am!” Ivy’s eyes widened. “Escapes started happening twice as often. Executions too, of course. I don’t know if I’d have tried it if I hadn’t heard about you.” 

This hit Fenris profoundly enough to stop him. Luckily, Ivy thought he’d spotted the boat, hidden in brambles and reeds by the shore. Fenris stared after the girl as she slipped down the gentle slope. She’d been eighteen when Kirkwall exploded, so that would make her... twenty-one? A child still, but older than Hawke when she went into the Deep Roads. Fenris was unsure of his own age. 

“Do they… say anything about who I was, before?” He asked, hesitant, hopeful, wary. Ivy’s eyes flashed up and he saw them full of sympathy. 

“No.” She answered simply. “You really don’t know who you were?” 

“I do not.” Fenris answered, joining her as she uncovered the boat. 

“That’s… sad.” Ivy said softly. 

“Don’t pity me.” Fenris warned. Ivy’s lips twitched upward easily. 

“Never dream of it, grandpa. Need help getting in the boat? Can your hip stand it?” She asked, faux sincerity dripping from every syllable. 

“I’ll have you know I took this wound fighting five templars with no armor.” Fenris bristled as they guided the vessel into the lake.

“Only five?” She asked. “I expected better, honestly.” 

Fenris didn’t dignify that with a response, whistling Lucia into the boat before climbing in himself. He hated to admit it, but it felt good to sit. He rubbed his side surreptitiously before the other elf joined him, handing him an oar. There was barely enough room for them, even with Lucia making herself as small as possible. The rowing was hard work, and the sun had decided to appear from behind the clouds. By the time they reached the opposite side, Fenris’s arms  were twitching with the strain from muscles that had been too long in disuse. They pulled the boat out and hid it just as carefully before climbing up the slope. 

“Good place to rest.” Ivy said, falling to the grass. Fenris, despite his impatience, didn’t fight it. 

“Tell me of what has happened. Were you there, at the beginning? When the breach opened?” Fenris asked. 

“I was, working for Nightingale. She found me pickpocketing in Denerim, when she found out I’d been in Tevinter she pumped me for everything I knew. Which was quite a lot, to be honest. I was good at eavesdropping. Then she hired me. I’m not particularly religious, but she pays well and she’s good to her people.” Ivy pulled two shining apples from her pack and handed one to Fenris. When he bit into it, it tasted like spring and juice dribbled down his fingers. “I was there, when it opened. Thought we’d all die, but then she came.”

Ivy rubbed the apple against her tunic thoughtfully before taking a bite of it. “I’m not religious… but it was a miracle. She’s a damned miracle, Lady Cadash. I know they say she was a criminal and a dwarf, but why does that disqualify her? I know people who saw her walk out of the Fade, they saw Andraste behind her.” 

“How did they know it was Andraste?” Fenris asked skeptically. Ivy scoffed.

“Well who else would it be? Andraste sent her to close that breach, and she did. Then when Corpyheus…” Fenris interupted quickly. 

“Corphyeus? That is the name of the Darkspawn magister?” He asked. 

“Yep. Told our Lady Herald himself. Tried to take Andraste’s mark from her hand. Then, while we evacuated, she faced him by herself with a damned archdemon about to eat her. She caused an avalanche that buried the red templars and herself. No one could have survived it, but she did. I saw your dwarf friend carrying her up the mountain with her sister cryin’ behind her. Thought she was dead at first, but the next day she was up and leadin’ us through the mountain.” Ivy shook her head, smiling broadly. “I don’t know much ‘bout Andraste or the Maker, but I know she’s special. I’d follow her to the death. Gladly.” 

Fenris felt a sudden, desperate urgency to get to Hawke. If it was Corypheus… kaffas, then it was their fault. And Hawke was known to carry the whole weight of the world on her shoulders. “And the Venatori?” He asked. 

“Tevinter cultists. Trying to restore the glory of the Imperium by setting up Corypheus as a new god.” She snorted. “Typical Imperium bullshit. I’ve told Nightingale I think most of their warriors are slaves, but there’s not much you can do about it when you’ve got their sword at your throat and a mage shooting fire out their ass. There was an infestation of them in Denerim, but we rooted them out. I got to meet the King himself.” 

“He’s a fair man.” Fenris said. Ivy rolled her eyes. 

“Course, you met him.” She complained. “He can still swing a sword at least. Said it was the most fun he’d had in years. Apologized that he’d been unable to come after the elves that had been shipped off during the blight. It doesn’t change anything, but it was nice of him.”

 

After their rest, they marched off toward the pass. Much to Fenris’s annoyance, Ivy insisted on stopping every time she noticed Fenris slowing, which was entirely more than he wanted to admit. “Venhedis, woman.” He exploded as she insisted for stopping for the night right when they arrived at the pass. “Stop coddling me!” 

“I’ll never forgive myself if I’m the one to get you killed after everything. We’ll be there tomorrow, with luck your lady mage will be there to coddle you in a much more satisfying way.” Ivy remarked nonchalantly, setting up her bedroll in a spot hidden behind an outcropping. “I will continue without you.” Fenris threatened. 

“You will get lost and end up in Orzammar, their ale is shite and you know you don’t want that.” Ivy said. “Listen, I’m in just as much a hurry as you. I got a solider up there I hardly ever get to see runnin’ around like I do. But slow is better than dead.” 

Fenris wanted to retort that slow was as good as dead, but he could tell it would do no good. He stalked off to gather firewood instead, Lucia padding happily at his heels. He returned with an armload of wood, but Ivy was standing ramrod straight, knives in her hands. She looked over her shoulder as he approached and made a shushing gesture. Lucia sank into a crouch and Fenris slowly laid the wood down, unsheathing his blade quietly as he approached. He could hear voices speaking softly, in Tevene. 

Fenris peered around the outcropping and saw the mage with the two swordsmen. There was a wicked, dangerous gleam in Ivy’s eyes as she listened. Venatori, she mouthed. Spies, Fenris thought, most likely headed for Orzammar or Skyhold itself. They were getting closer, continuing to walk in the dusk. Ivy disappeared from view, going into stealth smoothly. Fenris waited, counting footsteps. Then...a gurgle, a clatter, and Fenris stepped into view long enough to see the Mage collapse into the path of the dust and the two swordsmen turn to the rogue. Before Ivy could move, Fenris was behind them, plunging his sword through the cheap breastplate of the one of the left, then smoothly reaching with his gauntlet for the heart of the one on the right. He clutched but did not crush, not yet. Pain laced up his left side, but bearable, he had endured far worse. It was similar to how the markings had felt at first, when they were new. 

“Would you like him alive?” Fenris asked, allowing the one on the left to fall from his blade. 

“Oh, Nightingale will love you.” Ivy remarked, eyes wide. “Hold on, got some rope somewhere.” 

Fenris pulled his arm from the man’s chest and sent a heavy blow across his skull instead, letting him land squarely in the dust. Ivy was there in an instant, trussing him like a pig. She smirked up at Fenris, the mage’s blood still dripping down her cheeks. “Maybe just a short rest, and we’ll push on up to Skyhold.” 

“Suddenly I am not so old.” Fenris remarked wryly. The girl giggled. 

 

They made it to Skyhold with their captive shortly after dawn the next day and Fenris felt like collapsing in relief. Hawke was there, somewhere. It had been over a week, the longest he had went without sight of her in years. His heart ached to throw itself at her feet. His mind screamed that they were not through. They crossed the bridge and the portcullis started to rise. A soldier ran out before they were halfway across and Ivy dropped the rope that bound their prisoner, tossing it to Fenris before running forwards and jumping into the waiting arms of the soldier halfway across the gap. 

“Maker I’ve missed you.” The lad said, nuzzling his nose into the elven girl’s neck. She giggled, pushing him away and nipping lightly at his chin. 

“I’m probably gonna get a promotion soon. You’re gonna have to salute and everything.” She teased, waving behind her. “This is Ser Fenris, you’ve heard about him, and a Venatori spy we found in the pass.”

“Welcome, Serah.” The soldier saluted. Fenris didn’t know quite what to do, so nodded stiffly in return. Ivy took the prisoner and handed him off to other soldiers as they emerged. “It’ll be good to have a warrior of your renown in the Inquisition.” 

Fenris hadn’t meant to join the Inquisition, but he supposed if Hawke had, he may as well. He nodded, trying not to lean his weight from his bad side. “I was told my wife would be here.” He said, as diplomatically as possible. 

“Ah, your… wife. Serah Hawke? The Champion?” The boy said, nervously. Fenris nodded, curtly. “Congratulations. I had not… I was not aware. Unfortunately, Serah Hawke and the Inquisitor left with a retinue to the Western Approach. Just two days ago. They’ll be halfway across Orlais by now.” 

Fenris was going to scream. Or hit something. He grit his teeth together, turning on his heel. Trust Hawke to make him drag himself across the whole damned continent. He was going to…

“Fenris! Wait!” Ivy shouted, racing to his side. “You can’t, you’re still not well. And you’ve been going all night.” She argued, putting herself squarely in his way.

“I will be fine.” Fenris glared, shoving past her. Ivy sighed and shrugged her shoulders in a gentle rolling motion. 

“You could have taken the easy way.” She said agreeably, before her elbow lashed out and connected with the wound that had been aching for hours. It wasn’t half as hard as she probably could have hit him, but it was enough. The pain was agony and his marks flared, drawing the last of his strength. He lashed out, but she had already danced away. There were now two of her, swimming on the edges of her vision. Then there was nothing. 

 

Fenris awoke what felt like hours later, parched and confused. The bed smelled of clean grass, sugar cookies, Hawke. He knew it as well as he knew anything and his eyes searched desperately for her. Instead, they landed on two men deep in conference. One bowed and went out the door, the other turned to him with a peaceful smile. “Ah, you’re awake.” 

The name took a moment, there was...something different. Maybe it was the hair, or the lack of Templar armor. That scar on his lip was definitely not there before. “Knight Captain.” Fenris greeted warily, shifting his weak body upwards. His side shrieked in pain, again, like he’d undone all his week’s worth of healing. 

“Not anymore. You can call me Commander, if you wish.” Cullen said agreeably, sitting down in  a chair by the bed. “Maker’s breath, what happened to you?” 

“Your agent…” Fenris growled. Cullen chuckled softly.

“You’re telling me that girl brought one of the fiercest warriors I’ve ever seen to his knees with an elbow jab all by herself? Maker, I should steal her from Leliana then.” Cullen said patiently, leaning back. “Your dog almost got her, by the way.” He inclined his head to Lucia on the floor who lifted her head and wagged her tail happily. 

“Where is Hawke?” Fenris asked instead. “Or my armor.” He added, realizing he was bare from the waist up. 

“Your wife, congratulations are in order I hear, left with the Inquisitor and her companions to the Western Approach two days ago. Last I heard, they were somewhere near Verchiel.” Cullen answered. “I had one of our physicians take a look at you. That wound seems small to be causing you such problems.” 

“Not a mage, I hope.” Fenris stated. Cullen sighed.

“The mages we have are no healers, none hold a candle to Hawke on her worst days. We can stop bleeding and mend broken bones, but that’s it. Most of the healers that were in the circles never bothered to learn combat magic. When the war came, they were among the first to be cut down. I don’t know if there are many healers left in southern Thedas at all. You’ll have to make do with our surgeons.” 

“Hawke did all she could.” Fenris said. “Have you seen her? Is she well?” 

“From a distance. I was under the impression she was studiously avoiding me.” Cullen remarked. “She appeared well, tired, but well. I heard she was conning much of the Inquisition out of their coin with inappropriate gambling.” 

“That does sound like her.” Fenris said. “And my armor?” 

“That girl you arrived with sent it to be cleaned. Also, I suspect, to keep you from leaving as soon as you woke. She said she feared you pushed yourself too hard to make it here.” Cullen replied. 

“I was attacked, by templars infected with red lyrium.” Fenris explained. “We both were, but Hawke was uninjured. I was not so fortunate. Apparently, these markings near the wound become infected with the red lyrium somehow to cause a grave injury.” 

“Maker’s breath, you’re lucky to be alive. We’ve seen red lyrium infection, it’s fatal.” Cullen sat back, stunned. “Hawke may be an even greater healer than I thought. I was under the impression that the...other one was the better healer.” 

“The abomination spent more time on it, yes.” Fenris gritted his teeth. “But Hawke’s father was a healer. He made sure she learned.” 

“Regardless, I’d love to know how Hawke did it. Perhaps her technique could save others if we find them in time.” Cullen mused, standing. “This is her room, where she slept the night before they left. I figured you would prefer to be placed here as well.” 

“Thank you.” Fenris said stiffly. “I will not be staying long.” 

Cullen chuckled, shaking his head. “Stay for a few days, get your strength back. We get word from the Inquisitor everyday by raven and we can track them for you. I strongly suspect we’ll be sending a larger force after them in a week, perhaps less. If you would like, you’d be welcome to travel with them.”

“Why do you suspect that?” Fenris asked. Cullen frowned thoughtfully. 

“The man you brought back from the pass. He stated that there is a plan to raise an army in the approach and take Orlais for Corypheus. The Inquisition forces will have to stop it. Hopefully, the Inquisitor can learn more.” 

“Commander Cullen, news Ser.” Another soldier was at the door. Cullen stood, inclining his head in farewell as he left Fenris. Exhausted, Fenris allowed himself to settle back in the bed. Lucia was beside him, sniffing the sheets and pressing her cold nose to his cheek. 

“Very close, but not quite.” Fenris explained, scratching the dogs head. Then he fell asleep. 

 

He awoke to Lucia’s growling, fierce and determined, and Ivy in the doorway with his armor in pieces. “Oh shut it.” She told the dog with a roll of her eyes. “Woulda been dead in a week if he left in that condition.”

“I should let her attack.” Fenris said, keeping his eyes closed. “It is an underhanded thing, to turn on your ally.” 

“Sorry, Serah, that I wasn’t in a hurry to let you kill yourself. Call the mabari off or I’m dumping all your armor here in a heap.” Ivy threatened. Fenris whistled softly and Lucia retreated, still placing herself rather protectively between the two elves. 

“I’m heading west myself, with a small scouting party. Won’t be headin’ the whole way to the approach, but I may be able to pass on a letter if you like.” Ivy offered as she set his armor neatly down on a chest. 

“No.” Fenris answered. “A letter isn’t sufficient.” 

“Have it your way.” Ivy shrugged. “I know you’re angry for me taking you down like a sack of potatoes…” 

“Unfairly.” Fenris defended. Ivy smirked. 

“But it was an honor to meet you.” She finished. 

Unsure what to do, Fenris sat up slightly, swinging his legs experimentally from the bed. They felt stable enough to support him, and the pain was less when he stood. He offered his hand to the young woman, who took it briskly, shook it once, then turned away. 

“May your Maker, the Creators, or your Herald be with you.” Fenris said softly. The girl smiled. 

“Oh, I think they will be.” She answered easily, before vanishing. 

Two days later, Fenris was able to make it down the stairs by himself thanks to the overbearing attention of a rather grumpy alchemist and servants who seemed intent on feeding him to death. Two days after that, he felt as well as he did the day he’d left Lake Calenhad. He’d decided to back all his items and leave the next day, assuming he could obtain a mount to make the journey much easier. Cullen interrupted his efforts, letter clutched in hand. 

“The Inquisitor has called for the army. We leave at first light tomorrow to Griffon Wing Keep. It’ll be a hard march, but I’d appreciate your sword.” He said. 

“What has happened?” Fenris asked, hands stilled on his packing. 

“Blood magic and demons, what else is new.” Cullen swore under his breath, storming off. Fenris growled himself, throwing his pack onto the ground in distaste. He stormed to the window, looking out over the chaotic courtyard. Then he moved to the small desk in the room, opening the drawers to search for ink and paper. He should have written before, he cursed himself. Blood magic and demons, and Hawke in the thick of it, with no word from him because of his damned pride. Perhaps the letter could still make it before them on one of Leliana’s ravens… 

There was paper in the top drawer, letters folded in half. The top one spelled his name in elegant, looped letters. Hawke’s handwriting, he knew. He pulled it out, then the others beneath it. One for Merrill, Carver, Isabela, Varric, even Sebastian. Fenris opened the one addressed to him and felt his mouth go dry. He could only read the first sentence, over and over again, trying to make sense of it. 

 

_ Fenris - if you’re reading this, I’m gone and I won’t be coming back from the west.  _


	26. The Western Approach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassandra learns about the Inquisitor's relationship with Varric. Maria pushes herself too hard and Varric makes a terrifying realization. Someone arrives at Griffon Wing Keep.

 

The next morning, Varric waited in the great hall. Maria was always an early riser, and she didn’t disappoint when she emerged before breakfast was even served. Her red hair was a bit messy, pulled into a knot at the base of her neck and she was a bit pale. Varric chuckled to himself, dropping his gaze back to his book while monitoring her from the corner of his eye. He saw her pause when she saw him, saw her course alter to take her directly to him instead. He turned a page, attempting to appear rather absorbed. 

“You’re waiting for me.” Maria accused, stopping in front of him. Her voice was delectably husky and sent a shiver down his spine. Varric looked up, widening his eyes in faux innocence. 

“Me? I was just enjoying my book.” He protested as Maria took it from his hands and examined it with a smirk. She slipped a piece of paper in between the pages he was reading and shut it with a snap, handing it back to him. Varric brushed his fingertips against hers as he took it back, raising an eyebrow. 

“Well, enjoy.” She said breezily, turning her back and swaggering out of the hall. She was walking like that on purpose, he was sure. He still couldn’t wrench his eyes away from her swaying hips as she disappeared into the morning light, despite the footsteps approaching from behind him. 

“Why, what a view.” Dorian commented, brushing past Varric and shaking his head as he headed toward the courtyard. “Although some are certainly more enraptured than others.” 

“It would be a sin to not admire that.” Varric said softly, shaking his head and opening his book, unfolding the scrap of paper she’d shoved in there. He opened it, smiling at the hastily scrawled note. It instructed him to meet at the north tower during sparring practice, at the very end was a stylized M intersecting an equally fancy C. Varric grinned broadly and tucked the note into his pocket, fighting the urge to whistle as he opened the book again and relaxed in his cozy chair. 

His worry was ditching Hawke, but it turned out to be a bit easier than he’d hoped. Fiona, leader of the rebel mages, had intercepted Hawke as she left her room and had asked if she could help teach battlefield healing to some assembled apprentices. Hawke, never one to shrink off an opportunity to show off, had went happily enough. Varric was left to while away time on his own until he climbed up the tower. He cursed the amount of stairs as he hurried, climbing up the last ladder to emerge into the bright blue sky. He pulled himself up over the last rung and swung his eyes behind him. 

She was sitting on the cold stone, her legs crossed and a book open on her lap while she leaned against the battlements. The  sun lit her hair on fire and the wind pulled strands free from the knot at her neck. She was playing idly with the cold chain around her neck, but she stopped when she saw him, letting the gold crest drop back beneath the thin cotton of her shirt. “I wasn’t sure you’d get away.” She said, smiling brilliantly. 

“Lots harder for you to sneak away than me.” Varric commented, drinking her in. Maria laughed, shutting the book and turning it so Varric could see the cover. Maria grinned wickedly. Varric groaned. 

“Maker’s ass cheeks, where did you get that?” Varric asked, staring mournfully at his terrible romance serial. 

“Oh, I’m the inquisitor. I just ask for things, and they appear.” Maria continued to grin, opening it back up. “Leliana found this copy for me, the first in your series I believe.” 

“You said I’d have to pay you to read it.” Varric reasoned, reaching forward to grab it. Maria leaped up and danced away, ducking out of his reach and beginning to read aloud. 

“Caught in wave after wave of gloriously exultant pleasure…” Maria began. Varric swore, covering his eyes with his palm and rubbing his chin roughly. 

“Stop!” He pleaded.

Maria laughed, delighted, but didn’t stop. “She could only cling to the solidness of his muscular frame as their bodies molded…”

“I’m leaving!” Varric threatened, turning back to the ladder. Maria dropped the book, grabbing his arm in both of hers and pulling him back. Varric turned, quickly, pushing her back into the corner of the battlements, hidden from anyone who happened to look up by the high stone. Maria’s breath caught, a sound Varric found ridiculously attractive. He placed his palms on the sun warmed stone on either side of her head, Maria’s hands rested on his shoulders.

“How much of last night do you remember?” He asked. Maria’s smile became softer, almost shy. 

“All of it.” She admitted. “Should I apologize?” 

Varric laughed, letting his hands drift from the stone and skimming down her sides until he gripped her waist and pulled her closer to his chest, fingers digging into her firm, warm flesh. “Do you regret it?” He asked, leaning closer.

She pressed against him, arching her back and tracing her hands down his arms, squeezing experimentally with a smirk. She looked up, gray eyes dancing with mischief and desire. “Maker take me, but no, I don’t.” 

Varric captured her lips softly in his, pushing her back against the stone and capturing her between his body and the wall. Her lips were soft, sweet, all honey and cinnamon. Varric dared a nip to her lower lip and she gasped in surprise, causing Varric to chuckle. Both her hands traveled across the planes of his chest, slipping beneath silk to caress and tease. Varric pulled back for a moment, a curse on his lips as he reached up to pull her hair from the knot at the back of her head, pins scattering to the stones as he ran his fingers through the red waves before capturing her lips again. 

Varric could feel his pulse pounding, desire overriding good sense as he pulled the cotton shirt from where it was tucked into her breeches, slipping a hand up the back onto her warm, soft skin. She stretched like a cat into his hands, breath coming quick and hard as they broke away from each other. Her eyes were blown dark and stormy with passion, lips swollen from their kisses. Varric took his hand from her hair and traced it along the cupid’s bow of her lips gently. 

“Better than last night?” He asked. She smiled and gave a teasing nip at his thumb, tipping her head back and exposing the line of her throat and jaw to Varric’s teasing fingers. 

“I’ll need to check again, just to be thorough.” She said, leaning back into his embrace. Varric tightened his grip on her, losing himself in the taste of her. 

The loud, annoyed coughing was his first clue that they weren’t alone. Maria heard it at the same time and they both pulled away, dizzy and drunk with each other to stare at the intruder. Of course, it was Cassandra, her hair slicked with sweat from the sparring ring, eyes icy. Her arms were crossed over her chest and she was glaring straight through Varric. If looks could kill, he thought glumly as he loosened his grip on Maria. Surprisingly, Maria didn’t loosen her grip on him. She looked equally annoyed and arched an eyebrow at Cassandra. “Can I help you?” She asked. 

“There is a matter of urgent importance, Inquisitor. I didn't mean to interrupt this...display.” She made a noise of disgust in her throat and Maria’s eyebrow arched even further up. Cassandra soldiered on, heedless. “The Inquisition is judged by your actions. What if someone had seen?” Cassandra asked. 

“I suppose they’d have seen two dwarves kissing.” Maria answered tartly. Cassandra glowered at the smaller woman. 

“The Inquisition is judged by your actions.” Cassandra answered, shrugging her shoulders and going to turn away. Maria slipped from Varric’s arms, releasing him to the cool breeze as she stormed after Cassandra, grabbing the other woman’s elbow.

“Your Inquisition has taken my entire life!” She declared. “Every waking moment, I’m consumed with how to survive, how to keep these people alive, how to defeat an evil magister, how to stop a civil war in Orlais, Maker’s tits, how to keep my companions from strangling each other!”

“The Maker…” Cassandra began, wrenching her arm out of Maria’s grip. 

“Oh, fuck the Maker!” Maria spat out, bitterly. “Fuck Andraste! I didn’t sign up for this, Cassandra! I don’t even know why I’m here! You’d have rather had anyone else!” 

The silence was heavy, Cassandra looking torn between concern and apoplectic anger at the blasphemy from the Inquisitor. Maria wasn’t crying, not quite, but she rubbed at her eyes furiously. 

“Who else would have done it half as well as you have?” Varric asked. “Princess, it had to be you.” 

“It could have been any fool.” Maria said, shoulders slumping. “Excuse me…” 

“I believe you are sent by the Maker.” Cassandra said, suddenly. “I believe you are chosen of Andraste.” 

“Cassandra…” Maria sighed. 

“Beyond that, I believe only that you are capable of anything. Sometimes, it frightens me. More often, it gives me hope.” Cassandra sighed herself, running her fingers through her short hair and staring at the ground. “If this is what makes you happy, then far be it for me to interfere with any joy you can snatch out of this chaos.”

“Thank you.” Maria said stiffly. “Is there really something urgent?” 

“Yes. Josephine needs you to meet with a noble who has appeared as a surprise. A mess, I’m afraid, but he has loyal soldiers. I will…” Cassandra paused, uncertain. 

“Let Josephine know I’ll be there soon, please.” Maria asked, running her fingers through her hair and twisting it back neatly, bending down to grab some of the scattered pins. With a nod, Cassandra slid back down the ladder. Varric picked up a pin in front of him and handed it sheepishly to Maria. 

“Do you think I’m a woman or a herald?” Maria asked, slipping the pins back into her hair. 

“You can’t be both?” Varric asked lightly. Maria’s frown deepened and Varric rushed to explain. “When they talk about you, you’re divine, miraculous even. Infinitely too good to be true, but  here…” Varric tugged her back to him and she came with a small smile as he kissed the corner of her lips. “When it’s just me and you, or just four or five of us drinking and playing cards, I know who you are, Maria.” 

“I could get used to you saying my name.” She commented, turning her lips to meet his.

 

The Western Approach ended up being exactly as shitty as Varric thought it would be. It was made even worse by the corpses of Grey Wardens littering the ritual tower in front of him and the smears of blood all over the ancient stone. Maria was sitting on the stone steps, out of breath and clutching her sparking hand cursing vehemently. 

“Let me look at it.” Hawke demanded, shrugging off her gauntlets. 

“Are you an expert at rift magic now?” Solas asked Hawke, setting aside his staff to kneel in front of Maria. “My friend, are you hurt?” 

“Rift magic is not going to heal her!” Hawke countered passionately. 

“Will you two whip out your staffs and measure them somewhere else?” Maria asked through gritted teeth. “It’ll be fine, in a moment. Corypheus did this as well, when Haven…” 

Varric easily shouldered both mages out of his way, winding his arm around Maria’s waist and hoisting her up. Cassandra and Stroud were making the rounds of the Grey Warden mages, executing those that still drew breath. Maria gripped onto Varric’s coat for a moment before letting go and straightening. “Maybe we should have brought the rest of the team, Cassandra.” She admitted gravely.

“Perhaps, but we may not have been able to get so close without drawing the notice of that Magister.” Cassandra answered. Hawke was sourly putting her gauntlets back on, shooting daggers at Solas from under her long eyelashes. 

“Do you think we’ll be able to track him?” Maria asked, turning in the direction the Magister had disappeared. 

“We do not have to.” Stroud answered. “I know where the Wardens are. If they mean to complete this ritual, there is only one place to do so. Adamant Fortress is a Grey Warden stronghold, not far from here.” 

“Blood magic.” Hawke grumbled. “It’s always blood magic.” 

“Maker, an army of demons.” Cassandra sighed. “It is exactly as we feared.” 

“Well Seeker, we have an army of our own, right? We just need to get them out here.” Varric answered cheerily.

“Where will we encamp this army?” Solas asked critically. Varric could feel a migraine starting and hours of endless, circular bickering. He turned to Maria, but she was rubbing her hand absently and staring off into the distance. 

“Didn’t Harding say there was Venatori staked out in an old keep over that way?” She asked.

“Are you suggesting we take a keep?” Varric asked, reaching up to touch her head. “Did you crack your skull?” 

“I did not!” She protested. “They’ll never expect us to attack a keep with just the dozen of us. It’ll be a complete surprise.”

“It’ll be a surprise if we don’t all get killed.” Varric huffed. Maria grinned in challenge. 

“Well, if you’re scared…” She began. Hawke snorted and Varric rolled his eyes. Cassandra looked far away, calculating odds in her head before she nodded, determined. 

“If the keep is as old as she said, there will be more than one entrance. It could work.” She answered. “But we must discuss it with the others.” 

“Excellent!” Hawke said, bouncing past Solas with a twitch of her braid. The elf looked vaguely annoyed at the human mage. “Let’s go then.” 

As the group began to filter out of the tower, Varric lingered. Maria brushed her hand against him and he took it, opening it to look at the glowing green mark. The sparks and light lingered. 

“Did I scare you?” She asked, tipping her head to the side inquisitively. 

“Only for a second. Did you see his face when you snapped that rift back towards him?” Varric chuckled, rubbing her fingers gently. “It’ll take more than a bastard magister to take you down, Princess.” 

“Hey!” Hawke yelled, fists on her hips and grinning from ear to ear. “Are you two coming, or do you need some privacy?” 

Maria laughed, pulling away from Varric and following Hawke who swung an arm companionably around her shoulders. Varric was left shaking his head and following them. Solas fell into step beside him. 

“The Inquisitor and you..?” Solas asked delicately. 

“Not one to kiss and tell, Chuckles.” Varric deflected. Solas smiled wanly. 

“I am glad for both of you, then.” Solas answered, clapping his hand companionably on Varric’s shoulder. 

 

The plan to retake Griffon Wing Keep was met quite enthusiastically by the rest of their motley group at camp. As dusk approached, Varric moved silently with Cole, Hawke, and Stroud. Preliminary scouting by Sera and Scout Harding had revealed several possible entry points and perhaps forty Venatori guarding the keep. Unfortunately, the plan had called for a distraction, and Maria had vetoed all distraction possibilities that didn’t include her. 

“Her bow will fire, it always does.” Cole said behind him. “The string won’t snap, she’ll be quick enough to dodge their attacks.” 

“Thank you, kid.” Varric answered easily. 

“Maker, you’ve got it bad.” Hawke teased as she stretched. “What would Isabela say?” 

“Isabela bedded her sister.” Varric answered gamely. “So I imagine she’d probably congratulate me.” 

“Until she found out you hadn’t quite sealed the deal yet.” Hawke smirked. 

“There are more romantic places than the desert with poison swamps and crazy cultists.” Varric rolled his eyes.

“Romantic like the cabin with all the candles and the wine bartered from the Dalish. Anniversary of a wedding night we didn’t have, always running. Tan skin and white lines and his voice is smooth and rough like whiskey.” Cole muttered. Hawke’s face instantly went white and she turned away, masking the sudden pain rising in her blue eyes.

“I’m sorry, I made it worse.” Cole said. “Let me try again.” 

“That’s enough, kid.” Varric said softly. 

“But she doesn’t need to miss him.” Cole began. 

“Enough.” Hawke said harshly. Cole flinched back and Stroud caught the lad with a heavy arm, patting him on the shoulder. Varric smiled gently and apologetically, following Hawke.

“You scared him.” He accused. 

“He’s a spirit. He’s scary on his own.” Hawke bristled as they slipped around the fortress. “Is this the spot Sera was talking about?” 

Varric looked up and spotted the red “X” scratched just above his head. “Yep. She said we could hook a rope over that ledge and climb right up. Ready?”

“Always.” Hawke sighed as Varric uncoiled the rope around his arm, tossing the hook over the ledge and pausing breathlessly before giving it several sharp tugs.

“After you.” He said with a sweeping bow. Hawke scrambled up, followed by Stroud.

“But he’s coming.” Cole protested, looking at Varric from under his broad brimmed hat. “Dust from the road, in his mouth, he is tired and he’s hurt, but he’s coming.” 

“Thank the Maker for that.” Varric said with a grin. “But let’s leave it as a surprise.” 

Cole nodded, hoisting his lanky frame up the rope before Varric followed. He paused at the edge of the ledge, craning to see the front of the fort. 

“Bull and Cassandra are with her, aren’t they?” Hawke asked, pulling him back by his collar. “Let’s go.” 

“I hate you.” Varric said cheerfully as he pulled the rope up after them.

“No you don’t.” She answered sweetly, gripping her staff tightly. “Bet I get more than you.” 

“You’re on.” Varric grinned, cocking his crossbow. 

 

They waited patiently for the signal, and it was impossible to miss. Bull’s shout was enough to wake up a dragon as his heavy axe crashed into the heavy wooden gate. His laughter rang out as Venatori ran forward, spells beginning to sizzle in the air. “Death to the Inquisitor!” A man yelled as he raced past. With barely a glance, Varric shot a bolt through his skull. Hawke lifted an eyebrow. 

“One.” He said simply, reloading. Hawke jumped from the ledge with a relish, spinning her staff with reckless abandon and cracking one skull with it. Stroud joined her immediately while Cole slipped into the shadows. Maria was on Bull’s shoulders, thighs locked around his neck as he barged through the assembled warriors easily, Cassandra following with Solas. From the opposite ledge, a flask of something that smelled like ass dropped and spewed a vile green cloud. Sera let out a shriek of glee and he heard Dorian retch in disgust. Then Blackwall and Vivienne were pressing in from behind the Venatori, steel and spells flashing dangerously.  

A strong blow to his side caused Bull to crumple and Maria latched onto a ledge above her, swinging from his shoulders and onto it as she spun, firing arrows. Fire launched over Cassandra’s head and she had to duck to avoid it, laughing as she pulled more arrows from her quiver. Bull was already back up, swinging his axe in a broad circle that Cole had to leap away from. 

It was madness, chaos. Varric could barely keep up with the onslaught as he loaded and reloaded. And then it was over, as suddenly as it began, and Varric was watching Maria as she tripped over corpses and pulled the Venatori flag down to shouts and cheers from their assembled compatriots. She tossed it to Dorian, who scorched it to ash between his fingers. 

“We need our own flag!” Sera yelled, pulling the sash Cassandra wore along her waist. Cassandra nimbly untied the knot and handed it to Maria, who tied it quickly and sent it flying over them with a laugh. There was a bleeding gash in her right arm and Varric was nursing his own bruised ribs, but they were alive and victorious. In that moment, Varric could believe she always would win, good would triumph over evil, the dwarf gets his woman…

As if she could hear his thoughts, Maria turned and beamed at him, standing tall with pride and surrounded by her loyal companions. She was as imperious and regal as any queen or empress, but warm, soft at the edges. Varric loved that about her.

His own thoughts froze in a panic, every other synapse in his brain shutting down as Iron Bull lifted Maria clean off her feet, again. Shit, Varric thought.  _ Shit.  _ Hawke was finishing up patching a broken wrist on Blackwall and turned to look at him, concern clouding her face immediately. 

“You alright there, Varric? You didn’t take a blow to the head, did you?” Hawke asked, her brow wrinkling. 

No, Varric thought. He was most certainly not alright. When the fuck had that happened? He was setting himself up for heartbreak. He knew he was incapable of keeping it casual, but  _ love _ . Love had caused Varric nothing but problems. 

“I’m alright, Hawke.” Varric said, shrugging with a wry smile. “Just imagining the clean up we have to do.”

 

Luckily, they didn’t have to do it alone. Leliana had people situated throughout the approach and they congregated at the keep as soon as they received word that it’d been taken. The next day, it was something he was infinitely glad for the first time they looked in the well and found it full of corpses drained of blood. “Fuck.” Hawke swore. “We’re going to have to get in there and clean it out.” 

Maria looked a bit pale, but her gray eyes were steady when she pinned Dorian with them. “What is this?” She asked. 

“Blood magic.” He explained with a scowl. “Victims of blood magic, most likely slaves they brought for this purpose.” 

“I’m gonna be sick.” Sera said, pushing away from the lip of the well. “Not dealin’ with it.” 

Maria looked like she was about to agree, but instead she pulled her hair back from where it was sticking to her neck in the fading evening sun and tied it up with a piece of cloth. “Right. I think someone said there was an entrance from the outside into it. Let’s get those poor sods out of there and give them a decent funeral.” 

“Princess, you haven’t slept yet.” Varric said, gently. 

“After this.” Maria stated definitively. Varric rubbed the bridge of his nose, knowing that ‘after this’ she’d find something else that needed done. He looked hopelessly after her as she strode off. Hawke was still looking down into the well, face twisted in a grimace.

“I could use a nap.” She said grimly. “And a drink.” 

“Tell me about it.” Varric sighed. 

They joined her in the underground portion of the well, pulling bodies that luckily hadn’t started to rot. Dorian joined them as well as Cassandra, and when the bodies were laid on a large pyre Cassandra spoke some words over them and Hawke and Dorian started the fire. “How many were there?” Maria asked. 

“Twenty-three.” Cassandra answered, shaking her head. “Maker take them to his side.” 

“Inquisitor!” A scout yelled from behind them, waving a rolled parchment. Maria turned, looking weary, back to the fort. With a sigh, Varric followed. Hawke, Dorian, and Cassandra stayed to watch the burning pyre. 

Maria was reading the missive, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand. “Cullen sends word he’s on his way. They’ll be here within the week.” She commented, brushing sticky strands of hair away from her brow. Varric took her elbow, leading her gently back into the fort. 

“You need a break.” Varric observed. “C’mon.” 

“Varric, I can’t…” She protested. 

“You’re going to fall over or I’m going to snap and put a bolt in the next person who says Inquisitor.” He replied easily. “They set you up a tent hours ago, and you’re going to use it. I’ll get someone to bring you something to eat and I’m going to tell them to hold all your messages.” 

“Water to wash up too.” Maria sighed, absently clenching and unclenching the fist with the mark in it. 

“Anything for you, Princess.” Varric said with a small smirk as he drew up the silk flap to her tent. It was a hundred times nicer than the sad sack of canvas he’d gotten stuck with, but he didn’t begrudge her it. 

“Varric…” She said again, softer this time. Her eyes were searching his face, looking for something. Whatever it was, and whether or not she found it, he didn’t know. “Thank you.” 

He quickly let his lips rest on her dusty cheek. “Anything for you.” He repeated, pulling away with a grin. “Wicked grace later?” 

She smiled, rolling her eyes as she entered the tent. Varric was left, heart aching with hope, outside the flaps. He fought the temptation to follow her inside and turned to find clean water and food instead.

In his journal that night, he wrote another letter to her and didn’t send it. 

_ Dear Maria,  _

_ I fell in love with you while I wasn’t paying attention. I’m a glutton for punishment, it seems. This type of romance never ends well and I’m afraid we’re stuck in a tragedy.  _

_ Cassandra believes you are capable of anything, but I know the story. Hero miraculously saves the world at the cost of her own life, sacrificing herself for the greater good.  _

_ Don’t do that. I couldn’t bear it.  _

_ Yours, _

_ Varric _

 

Finally, something settled over the keep that approached routine. Work was completed in the early morning and evening, when the heat was bearable.  In the afternoon, everyone took to finding whatever shade they could and chasing sleep. That afternoon, Varric and Maria were engaged in a rather cutthroat game of Wicked Grace. Hawke and Cole had both been playing, but Cole was more interested in observing the face cards and Hawke had lost so badly she’d quit two rounds in and had retreated to the corner with Maria’s copy of Tale of the Champion. 

“This isn’t true, Varric.” She complained, turning a page. “I didn’t actually push Carver off the docks when he got into that fight with me about templars while we were trying to scrape coin together.” 

“You thought about it.” Varric shrugged, trying to lift two cards from the deck instead of one without catching Maria’s attention. She immediately scoffed and Varric sheepishly drew only one. 

“The good part is in the next chapter.” Maria chimed in, deftly discarding a card and laying her hand out. Three pairs, shit. Varric threw his own cards down in disgust and Maria handily swept his coin towards her growing pile of winnings. 

“What’s the next chapter?” Hawke asked, flipping ahead a bit to look.

“You have to break into the brothel to save the Seneschal from an irate ex-lover.” Maria offered. 

“Ah, well that really happened. Did you include the bit where I found Bran in lady’s underthings?” Hawke asked.

“Course I did.” Varric muttered. “Damn it, Cadash, where are you hiding all those cards?” 

Maria winked at him as he shuffled. 

“Inquisitor!” A scout was huffing up the steps, mopping her brow with her sleeve. “The first outriders are approaching from the army. We spotted them, no more than ten minutes out.” 

“Excellent.” Maria said, stretching. Varric admired the hint of her exposed abdomen when her shirt rode up enticingly. Hawke laughed and shook her head, hiding her head behind the book before Varric could properly glare at her. “I’ll go greet them.” 

“Anger, hurt, regret, burning in his throat like words he choked on so long ago. Hope and unease. He doesn’t know what to expect and that scares him.” Cole mumbled.

“Cole, we’ve already told you to stop talking to the face cards six times.” Hawke complained. 

“C’mon Cole, leave cranky Hawke alone.” Maria offered her hand and Cole took it with a small, hopeful smile. 

“He’s afraid of how the story ends, but you’re more scared of how it began. I don’t know how to help, but I want to.” Cole said softly. 

“You help plenty, Cole.” Maria encouraged. 

“You both have quiet old songs around you. I like it.” His smile broadened even farther. Maria rolled her eyes fondly, tugging Cole away. Varric gathered up the cards and coins, dumping them in Maria’s pack before joining Hawke, looking out the narrow window at the front gates. 

“We’ll be storming the fortress soon, then.” Hawke said softly. “Sure to be dangerous.”

“You love danger.” Varric accused. Hawke laughed, leaning her head against the stone. 

“A bit.” She admitted. “But listen… if something happens, Varric…” 

“Nothing is going to happen to you.” Varric responded automatically, watching the dust kicked up by the approaching riders in the distance. 

“If something does…” Hawke turned the page in the book idly. “I left letters in Skyhold, for Fenris and Carver and our friends. You’ll see that they’re delivered?” 

“You think they’d be satisfied with a letter?” Varric asked, incredulous. “Hawke, they’ll kill me if you don’t make it back. And I’d never leave you behind.” 

“Your lady friend isn’t going to let you die. I’m glad I’ve finally found good hands to leave you in.” Hawke smiled gently. “Just… say you’ll do that for me. Please?” 

“Fine.” Varric said, as much to end the conversation as anything. “About Maria...” 

“Your princess?” Hawke teased. “Oh Varric, I never thought I’d see the day when you were putty in someone’s hand.”

“Besides yours, you mean.” Varric rubbed his temple again as the riders began to clarify into single figures on their horses. 

“Besides mine.” Hawke shut the book, cracking her fingers as she thought. “Does Bianca know about her?” 

“Why should she?” Varric asked bitterly. 

“I’m sure she’ll have something to say about it.” Hawke remarked sagely. “You wait for it. Nothing will make her crazier than the thought of you moving on.” 

“Bianca doesn’t give a damn.” Varric said immediately. “And I don’t give a damn what she thinks.” 

“As long as you’re sure.” Hawke shrugged nonchalantly. Varric let her lapse into silence, her eyes falling closed as she leaned back. Varric could swear...the rider approaching the gate looked familiar. The movements reminding him of…

It hit him at the same time he caught his first glimpse of white hair. Broody had finally tracked them down. Varric jumped up and Hawke opened one eye suspiciously. 

“Just remembered, Cassandra’s patrol will take her over here and I’m still on her shit list. See you later, Hawke.” He said, saluting as he backed away. Hawke sighed, closing her eyes again as Varric raced down the steps and made his way quickly to the gate where Maria stood. 

“Princess, I think we’re about to have an old friend of mine joining us.” He said quickly. 

“Who…” Maria began, tearing her eyes from the report she was reading to look up. The riders were pulling up and the leader slipped from his horse immediately, greatsword strapped securely on his back, only in half armor because of the heat and his lyrium brands gleaming in the sun. Fenris tossed his hair impatiently from his eyes as he approached, a quick nod in Varric’s direction. 

“Broody, good to see you.” Varric said cheerfully. “Allow me to introduce Inquisitor Cadash.” 

“A pleasure.” Fenris said dryly. “I’m here for my wife.” 

“Right.” Maria said, startled out of whatever shock she’d found herself in. She jerked a thumb behind her. “Up the steps, first left and hiding behind some columns.” 

“Thank you.” Fenris said stiffly, barely pausing as he made his way into the keep. Maria stared after him for a moment, then swung her eyes back to Varric. 

“He’s better looking than I thought he’d be.” She admitted. Varric sighed. 

“Not you too.” He bemoaned. “Everywhere we take him. It’s infuriating.” 

“Jealousy is quite becoming on you.” Maria teased with a laugh. “I have to go find Dorian before your friend does.” 

“Good idea.” Varric sighed, looking up to where he knew Hawke was resting. “And when the shouting starts, please feel free to ignore it.” 

“Will there be much shouting?” Maria asked apprehensively. 

“Oh, I’m sure.” Varric smirked. “But they come through it in the end, always do.” 


	27. Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris surprises Hawke and meets the Inquisitor's team. Dorian tries to build bridges.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (NSFW right at the beginning)

 

_ Fenris - _

_ If you’re reading this, I’m gone and I won’t be coming back from the west. When I arrived at Skyhold, I learned that Corypheus had returned with an army of templars infected with red lyrium. Varric almost died when they took Haven. There’s a dwarf, Maria Cadash, who managed to nearly bury the bastard under a mountain. He escaped before she could, unfortunately.  _

_ You were as disappointed as I was when we learned my father had resorted to blood magic to keep my family safe. The last desperate attempt of a desperate man. I promised you I wouldn’t resort to it, no matter what. I didn’t realize right away that I had lied, but I have.  _

_ When you were hurt, I heard demons whispering to me that they could give me the power to save you. I thought you were dying and I wanted to listen to them, Fenris. I would have given anything to save you, my soul, every ounce of blood in my body, the lives of hundreds of people I’d never met. They don’t matter if I can’t keep you safe. I managed to save you on my own this time, but next time I may not. You would hate me and I couldn’t bear it.  _

_ I’m sorry for being the weak mage you always feared. I’m sorry I couldn’t be strong enough for you. I’m sorry I’ve forced you into hiding again and I’m sorry I almost cost you your life. I’m not worth it. I was never worth you.  _

_ I couldn’t save Bethany or Mother from my curse. I only gave Carver a temporary reprieve from the darkspawn. Now I have to fix my mistake before Varric or his last chance for happiness succumbs to it. I should never have let Corypheus loose. I should never have been selfish enough to take you for my own. Maybe you can still escape, amatus. I hope you can.  _

_ I fully expect to not return from the Western Approach. I know the danger I’ve gone into, and no one has asked me to do so. Varric and his Inquisitor are not at fault and neither are you. You’re all free of me. I want you to be happy. Please don’t grieve me. Know that you are the last thing I was scared to lose.  _

_ Love, _

_ Reyna _

 

Fenris did not need to read the letter anymore, he knew it by heart. Every word was scarred into him as surely as the lyrium branding his skin. Each letter on the page was a fresh wound, one she had given him twice because if she had never taken the damned time to teach him he would never have this cursed knowledge. Hawke had decided to die. Fenris would not allow it. 

He rode with Cullen most of the grueling march and he ignored the pain when it flared up. He pushed with the forces as hard as he could, then harder. He felt like he was racing a ticking clock, driven by the nightmare he would be too late and only a corpse would be waiting for him in these blighted lands. 

Then he saw Varric, and he knew he was not too late. Varric was smiling, and Varric wouldn’t smile with Hawke freshly gone. Fenris knew that, because Fenris had been at the Gallows and had heard Varric shout when Hawke had offered herself to free them. He followed the female dwarf’s instructions almost blindly, exhausted and sore as he strode purposefully past the bustling garrison. He took the first left and saw the columns in front of him. Several more strides and he was passed them, stopping cold and staring. 

She was more beautiful than he remembered. Her long dark braid was coiled beside her in the nook she rested in, a book on her chest that  rose and fell peacefully. Her face was sunburnt, the faint freckles standing out starkly. Her eyes were closed as if she slept. Fenris was reminded, suddenly and painfully, of a fairy story. The prince finds the maiden sleeping in a tower, safe from all danger. 

Fenris was not a prince, but the sudden relief he felt allowed him to be fanciful. He crept closer as silently as he could and Hawke didn’t stir. She wasn’t wearing gloves and Fenris could see his ring still on her finger. Her ribbon was still wound around his wrist. The gauntlets had been cumbersome while riding, so he’d traded them for thin leather gloves. He took another step closer, then another, and he was directly over her. His shadow fell across her face and she stirred, opening her lyrium blue eyes slowly, lashes fluttering against her cheeks. 

Fenris couldn’t decide whether to kiss her or strangle her. Confusion clouded her features, then a sudden and violent recognition as she sat up, swinging her legs off the nook. Her palms pressed against his breastplate hesitantly, as if making sure he was real. “Damnit Fenris!” She swore, pushing him away. “Damnit! What are you doing here?” 

“I received your letter.” Fenris said, watching the expressions playing over her face. Hawke was horrible at hiding her emotions and he could clearly see longing, agony, fury, hope, and relief battling for dominance. 

“And what part of ‘I cannot risk losing you’ did you not understand?!” She asked, volume rising as her color did. Then her slim white arms were circling around his neck and she was kissing him, tears beginning to fall down her face as she slammed her fist against his breastplate again. She tasted exactly like he remembered, elfroot and sugar. It had been far too long since he’d felt her, since he’d tasted her. He suddenly felt like a starving man presented with a royal buffet. He grabbed the hand on his breastplate, holding her wrist in his hand. 

“You left.” He growled. “Fasta vass, you left! You snuck out while I was injured, leaving me like an inconvenient tryst. I am your husband!” 

“You almost died!” Hawke shouted. Tears were running down her red cheeks, catching like pearls on her eyelashes. “You almost died and I…” 

“Almost turned to blood magic, apparently.” Fenris interrupted, wrenching away from her and pulling the other letter from where it lay folded near his heart, throwing it at her. She didn’t dodge, allowing the often read letter to bounced off her chest. Her eyes were wide, frightened. “I read your suicide note as well. A bit early, I’m afraid, since you’re still very much alive.” 

“Then why have you come?” Hawke whispered, bitterly, closing her eyes.

“Because I love you.” Fenris admitted. “Because I refuse to allow you to make the mistake I did and throw us away.” 

“You’re lying!” Hawke protested, choking on a sob and burying her face in her hands as she sunk to her knees. She looked like a child’s doll, unbearably small. Fenris finally saw the title of the book on the ground. Tale of the Champion, how ironic. Cursing, Fenris sunk down beside her. His knees ached in protest, but he ignored them. 

“You did not do it.” Fenris said softly. “You were tempted, but you resisted.” 

“I would have!” Hawke protested, continuing to hide. “Don’t defend me! I’m everything you  _ hate _ . We pulled twenty-three corpses out of this place, slaves that had been massacred for power and I would have done that! I’d have done anything to save you!” 

Fenris pulled Hawke up, pushing her into an open door he saw in the periphery of his vision and shutting it behind him. With the stone walls blocking noise, he felt much less exposed, and better yet Hawke was much less vulnerable to prying eyes and ears. She pulled away from him again, pacing to the furthest corner of the small room that was full of crates and sacks. She bent over a crate, trying to catch her breath. The effort caused her to break into sobs again, noisy things that she tried to bury in her arm. “You shouldn’t have come.” She choked out. 

Fenris latched the door closed behind him then leaned his pounding head against it. He closed his eyes against his own tears, willing them not to come. “I thought I would be too late. That you would willing bow to your death and think I despised you for weakness, for desperation. I, who have been weak and desperate as long as I know.” He laughed without humor. “The truth is, after I have tortured myself on a damned horse for a week replaying that letter over and over in my mind, I know now it doesn't matter. I would have loved you still, I would have followed you still, even if you had succumbed to blood magic and demons. I could not harm you if you became an abomination and attacked me anymore than I could rip out my own heart. My last words would be that I love you, that I always have, and that I always will.” Fenris sighed and looked over his shoulder. Hawke had turned and was staring at him, blue eyes wide and full of tears. 

“Maker, I’ve ruined you.” She said finally as the silence dragged on. 

“Perhaps.” Fenris answered. “I find I don’t care about that either.” 

“I can’t let you die for me.” She persisted, taking a tentative step forward. “Fenris, I can’t. You’re in so much danger. You have to leave, you must go.” She argued. 

“Then tell me!” Fenris shouted, turning to her fully. “Tell me that you don’t love me, that you have never loved me. Make me believe it and I will go.” He crossed to the room, grabbing her chin and pulling her eyes to his. “But if you are lying, Reyna, I will know. And I will not leave your side, I will not allow you to throw yourself on your sword and martyr yourself to ease your guilt.” 

Hawke’s mouth opened, then closed. She closed her eyes and opened her mouth again, only one word falling from her red lips. “Fenris…” 

“So I thought. I will not lose you to your fear the way you lost me to mine. Three years I went without you, torturing myself with thoughts of you, and you wish us to repeat it?” Fenris asked harshly. “You’re a fool.” 

“Perhaps.” Hawke admitted, lips trembling. Fenris cursed again and suddenly he was in front of her, pulling her into his arms. 

“Festis bei umo canavarum.” He growled, crushing her to his breastplate. “I don’t know whether to shake you or…” 

Instead of finishing, he decided a demonstration was appropriate. He assaulted her lips, feeling them swell and bruise under his frantic touch. He lifted her small form, lighter than he even remembered and packed her against the nearest crate, settling her on it. Desire was quickly overtaking common sense, the feel of her flesh yielding to him, the small noises she made in her throat as she tugged on the long strands of his hair that brushed his neck. He pulled back, trying to reign in, to regain control. “No.” Hawke breathed, pulling him back with her hands hooking in his breastplate. “Please, I need you.” 

It was all the permission he needed as he wrapped himself around her, her trembling fingers pulling at the laces of his breeches. He didn’t bother attempting to unlace hers, pulling them down roughly. His erection was free, her sinfully soft fingers encircling him and he moaned her name into her hair, before fisting his hand in that long dark braid and pulling her head back. He reached between them and felt the wetness already coating her slit. He felt a red cloud of lust settle over him as he lurched forward, impaling her in one smooth motion. She cried out, loudly, as he pulled back and thrust again. 

“Never again.” He whispered as her sheath clenched around him. “Promise me.” 

“Fenris…” She moaned again and he tugged her hair roughly. 

“Reyna…” He growled. “Promise.” 

“I promise.” She whimpered, the pace of his thrusts speeding and becoming erratic. She was barely hanging onto his breastplate, her moans becoming loud enough for him to put his leather gloved hand over her mouth just before she clenched over him, her whole body going rigid and Fenris emptied inside her. He left himself cradled in her as he wrapped her in his arms, kissing and nuzzling her neck. 

“I love you.” There were still tears in Reyna’s throat. Fenris knew what she was feeling, could feel it himself. A raw feeling where he’d been scraped clean on the inside, vulnerable and naked.

“I know.” He answered. “Do not make me cross half of this blighted continent again to reach you.” 

 

When they emerged from the supply closet, Hawke took one look at at the area where she had been sitting and sighed in resignation. “What is it?” Fenris asked as he closed the door behind them. 

“Do you think the Inquisitor came and got her stuff or Varric? And do you think we were still fighting with each other or…” She trailed off.

“Does it matter?” Fenris asked. “I expect we will be the joke regardless.” 

“At least with the Inquisitor, it’s far less likely to end up in a book.” Hawke griped.

Fenris rubbed his side experimentally. Hawke zeroed in on it immediately, eyes narrowing in concern. “It hurts still?” 

“At times.” Fenris admitted. “It was a long march. The Commander and the rest of the troops will be here within an hour.”

“Did you meet Maria?” Hawke asked. “You’d better do it now, before she’s too busy to do it properly.” 

“The rumors about her and Varric…” Fenris asked. Hawke actually laughed, shaking her head in astonishment. 

“Completely true, I’m afraid. He’s rather smitten. I’ve been merciless about it, in revenge.” She explained happily enough. “They’ll want us to go to Adamant. With them.” She began casually. 

“If you are going, I will be there.” Fenris said immediately. Hawke’s shoulders slumped in defeat. “This discussion is over.” 

“So you think.” Hawke muttered under her breath. Fenris chose to act as if he hadn’t heard. They trailed up the bustling keep, dodging frantic scouts and soldiers. At the top of the keep, in a hive of chaos, stood the dwarf he’d barely glanced at before. He was right, her eyes were distinctive. Her hair was twisted into a bun at the nape of her neck, a deep red color very similar to blood. Beyond that, he supposed what set her apart most was the noble profile of her nose and chin as she stared up at a soldier in a way that made it seem like he was staring up at her despite the glaring height difference. 

“Bandits have taken over the ritual tower, Ser. Now that there is no Grey Warden presence to discourage them. They have attacked our supply caravans twice.” The soldier continued on. The dwarf nodded thoughtfully. 

“I’ll have Blackwall, Sera, and Solas take care of it. Sera’s been cooped up here far too long. Anything else?” She asked. The soldier shook his head, saluting.

“Thank you, how’s that boy you were looking after in Skyhold? Any news about his parents?” The dwarf asked. The soldier smiled, shyly. 

“None, your worship, but he seems content enough. He’s learning his letters and he’s quite clever. His older sister has started working in the kitchens.” The man answered. “He’ll be thrilled you asked about him.” 

“Hopefully we can get back and see them sooner than later.” The Inquisitor answered with a friendly, but pointed nod. The soldier saluted again as Maria continued past to a table littered with maps and scrawled notes. 

“Inquisitor!” Hawke called enthusiastically. The woman looked up and smiled, waving them over. Fenris let his eyes trail across the map of the approach she’d been studying, a marker placed over an old fortress farther to the west. “Allow me to introduce my husband, Fenris.” 

“We met, briefly. He seemed quite determined to find you.” Her eyes sparkled with mischief and her lips twitched at the corners, hiding a grin. “Shall I call you Fenris, then? Or Ser Hawke?”

“Fenris will be adequate.” He stated. “And should I call you…?” 

“Oh, whatever you like I expect.” She answered breezily. “The soldiers call me Inquisitor, my friends call me Maria when they’re not calling me boss, quizzy, or Cadash.”

“Varric calls her Princess.” Hawke whispered theatrically, loudly enough to carry to Maria, who rolled her eyes. 

“That I’d discourage, I’m not entirely sure why I let him get away with it.” She replied evenly. 

“The chest hair, I’d wager.” Hawke waggled her eyebrows. 

“I made sure to instruct someone to move your tent into a more secluded area over by the eastern corner. Just in case you need a repeat performance of the storage room.” Maria said easily, picking up some of the papers on  the desk and moving past them with a wink. “If you’ll excuse me, some of us have work to do.” 

“Damnit.” Hawke swore, watching her go. 

 

When Cullen arrived, a scout summoned Hawke from their tent rather nervously. Fenris followed her back to the table with the map. Varric was beside the Inquisitor as she leaned over the map and he smirked at Fenris as they approached. The rest of the companions were a motley group, from an elf wearing brightly colored plaid leggings and fletching arrows to a young man with a broad brimmed hat nervously twisting his tunic in his hands on Maria’s other side. There were astonishingly gaudily dressed mages lounging in the corner and a severe looking woman studying the map, a qunari nearly as large as the Arishok himself, and a gruff looking man that was sharpening his blade. 

“It’ll be a bloody business, Inquisitor. There’s nothing to be done about that. Adamant Fortress has stood for ages.” Cullen said. “But it was built before modern siege equipment. We can bring down those walls.” 

“Did you bring siege equipment, Cullen? You’re a gem.” The Inquisitor said, tapping her fingers against the map lightly. “We’ll still expect losses?” 

“They are Grey Wardens, my lady. They won’t make it easy.” The gruff man said. Maria sighed. 

“I don’t want to take out Wardens if I can help it. They’ve been mislead.” She answered. 

“Standing orders to not engage with Wardens who are not attacking, perhaps?” The severe woman asked. Hawke slipped into place next to Varric. Suddenly, all eyes were on Fenris and Hawke.

“Who in Andraste’s tits is the shiny elf?” The elf fletching arrows asked. 

“This is the Champion’s husband, Serah Fenris. He’s quite skilled himself with a blade.” Cullen introduced. Fenris inclined his head stiffly. 

“Will you be joining us for the assault on Adamant?” Maria asked. 

“No.” Hawke answered at the same time Fenris said “Yes.” Fenris made a rather exasperated sound in his throat and glared into Hawke’s blue eyes. 

“Right. I’m not getting involved in that.” Maria said immediately. “Would you all like to introduce yourself, or should I do it?” 

“I’m doing it.” Varric said easily. “We’ve got Sera in the rather flashy leggings. She’s an archer like our Inquisitor, but not quite as good.” 

“Shove it in your face.” Sera sneered. 

Varric ignored her and continued. “Warden Blackwall, who is honestly quite boring. The Iron Bull, who I expect you’ll like quite a lot, Broody…” 

“You heft around that big sword all by yourself?” Bull asked. 

“Typically.” Fenris answered. Bull chuckled.

“Oh that I have to see.” He observed. 

“Continuing… we have Cole. You two should probably just stay away from each other. Then there’s the Seeker…”

“Cassandra Pentaghast.” The woman interrupted. “A pleasure to meet a skilled warrior such as yourself.” 

“She’s the one who kidnapped Varric.” Hawke whispered slyly. 

“Punishment enough in itself, I imagine, unless she gagged him.” Fenris observed. Cassandra looked incredibly self-satisfied. 

“Then we have our mages. Solas is a cheerfully optimistic apostate who decided to help crazy Chantry people fix a hole in the sky then stayed.” Fenris glanced at the silent elf in the corner who was staring a bit too hard at the markings. Fenris fought the glare rising and looked away to the other two mages.    
“Vivienne goes by Madame de Fer and is frankly a bit terrifying.” 

“I thought Varric was… exaggerating the lyrium branded into your skin, my dear. I am… terribly sorry about the price you have paid for reckless magic. I cannot imagine the suffering they have caused.” The woman said, carefully, but sincerely. Fenris did not know what to say and swept his eyes back to Hawke. She had stiffened nervously. 

“Last, we have our friend Dorian Pavus he is…” Varric began. 

“If you say Magister, I swear I’m leaving.” The tanned man said. “Barbarians, the lot of you.” 

Fenris felt something he’d forgotten clutch at his heart, icy fear of being dragged back to Tevinter in chains. The man was reclining, at ease apparently, no staff in sight. Mages didn’t need staffs, though, he knew that. Fenris turned, furious, to the dwarf who was appraising him. 

“You count among your friends a Tevinter altus?” He asked, voice strained. 

“There’s that word we can never remember.” Varric joked weakly. 

“Yes.” Maria answered. “He left his country, risked his life to save mine, became a pariah, and has been unswervingly loyal. I’m proud to call him my friend.” Her eyes were steady, the gray catching the fading light and Fenris knew why Varric was so enamoured. She saw entirely too much with those eyes too, all the cracks and flaws everyone kept hidden. 

“I’m also an impressive physical specimen and quite charming.” Dorian added. “If we’re listing my virtues.” 

Fenris was searching his mind now, rattling all the forgotten information he knew about the Pavus family. Closer to the Archon than Danarius, voices of anti-corruption, but slaveholders and magisters nevertheless. Fenris pushed away from the table, disgusted.

“Fenris…” Hawke said quietly. 

“Do not.” Fenris growled as he stalked away to the battlements, away from the dwarf with the eyes that could look through you and see your secrets. Hawke let him go, staring after him until he heard her sigh, resigned. 

“What’s the plan, then?” She asked, falsely bright. 

 

Hours passed, night fell on the dessert. Tents were lined up, orderly as soldiers on the ground below him. He sat on the battlements and watched the men move like ants, listened to bawdy laughter and someone singing. His thoughts chased themselves like dogs. He’d been tempted to pack up Hawke and drag her kicking and screaming from this place. The only thing that had stopped him was the thought that he probably couldn’t actually move Hawke from this place if she had no intention of going. He’d also been tempted to go and take care of their Tevinter altus problem himself, but that would have been a stupid thing to do with the man surrounded by friends. 

So he waited. Varric would call it brooding. He waited until he heard steps coming towards him, slow but deliberate. At first he thought it was Hawke or Varric, but the stride was too long. He turned instead to see the altus stopped, a safe distance back, a bottle of wine in his hand. 

“You’re a fool to put yourself in my grasp.” Fenris threatened. 

“Funny, that’s  _ exactly  _ what our Inquisitor said.” The mage began, holding the bottle of wine out. “I know you absolutely loathe me, but can I remark that it’s so very nice to hear a proper accent. The Fereldens are the worst, every word Sera says is like a knife to the eardrum.” 

“Leave now.” Fenris growled. 

“I brought this wine we found when we took the keep. Maria wanted to throw it away, but I’m tired of that ale they keep forcing on me. It’s atrocious. I’ve got three bottles of my own. I hoped that as a countryman, you may appreciate this one.” Dorian continued obliviously. 

Fenris said nothing, continuing to glare. With a bow, Dorian placed the bottle on the stones in front of himself. “I never met you, wasn’t allowed at Danarius’s parties I’m afraid. But I’ve heard the stories. I have to say, the man got exactly what he deserved. Intellectual curiosity is all well and good, but Danarius represented everything I detest about my homeland. Regardless, it is my homeland, and I have benefited from the system that treated you as little more than an animal.” 

“And done nothing to stop it.” Fenris added. Dorian flinched at the venom in his voice. 

“You are correct. I thought very little about it until I came south. I took the Imperium for granted, I thought slavery made sense. My family treats our slaves quite well, I thought treating slaves badly was a personal and moral failing. I ignored how rife the abuse was, it mattered little to me. Perhaps that makes me as bad as Danarius in my own way.” Dorian paused, shifting uncomfortably. “Regardless, I am  here now on my own merits. I’ve grown fond of this ragtag group of misfits and burnt many bridges that would take me home. I only ask for assurance that you won’t murder me in my sleep.” 

“Your tent is situated astonishingly close to that large Qunari and the Inquisitor’s, so it would be impossible to kill you there.” Fenris answered. 

“Reassuring.” Dorian said dryly. “Well, I’ve done what I can then to prevent other murder attempts. If, at any time, you need a favor, I would be glad to oblige.” 

“I don’t need favors from your ilk.” Fenris said. 

He heard Hawke sigh before he saw her, shaking her head and waving Dorian away as she picked up the bottle. Dorian retreated as Hawke approached, setting the bottle beside him. “It’s a good vintage, I believe. At the very least, you can smash it against the stone for a satisfying crack.” 

“You knew.” Fenris accused. 

“I did. I’ve been nothing but impolite to him, but… he has grown on me despite my best efforts.” Hawke shrugged. “Perhaps he is a good man.” 

“Perhaps.” Fenris repeated scornfully. 

“We march on Adamant the morning after next.” Hawke said softly. “Stay here, amatus. Stay safe, I’m begging you.” 

“I will not leave you.” Fenris said stubbornly as Hawke’s palm rested over his. “If you must do this, then we do it together.” 

Hawke sighed, dropping her head against his. “Stubborn ass.” She grumbled. 

Instead of arguing, he dropped his lips to hers. “I have missed you.” He admitted. 

“And I you.” She answered. 


	28. The Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Inquisition storms Adamant fortress. Fenris is separated again from Hawke.

Here lies the abyss, the well of all souls.   
From these emerald waters doth life begin anew.   
Come to me, child, and I shall embrace you.   
In my arms lies Eternity.   
Canticle of Andraste 14:11

Adamant fortress loomed perhaps a mile ahead as the army marched, banners drooping in the heat. The troops were growing silent now, restless as they stared at the high walls. Soon, they’d be in distance for arrows to begin raining down on them. Fenris observed the thin line of the Inquisitor’s mouth as Cullen repeated the chant under his breath. 

“Princess, care to explain to me, again, why I’m getting ready to storm a castle for you?” Varric asked, brushing the dust from his sleeve. 

Dorian burst in from her other side before she could answer. “Because she’s rather pretty and you’re rather foolish. What do you think the odds are for our success here, Varric?” 

“You’re not asking me to give odds on our beloved Inquisitor’s success?” Varric asked, all mock innocence. Maria lips moved into a small smile. 

“What would that look like? Three to one?” Dorian laughed. 

“In her favor?” Varric asked. This caused Maria’s smile to grow even larger. 

“Besotted fool. After Corypheus pulled an archdemon from his ass? You must be joking.” 

“I’ll take those odds.” Maria said evenly, stroking her bow. 

“This is why we adore you so.” Dorian said, winking lavaciously. 

“I’ll go fifty crowns on the Inquisitor.” Varric raised an eyebrow challengingly. Maria laughed and Hawke snorted in amusement. 

“I’ll take it.” Dorian said gleefully. “Let’s see if I can drum up any other takers.” 

With that, the mage disappeared to the back of their group. “Feeling confident, Varric?” Hawke asked. 

“Always. Besides, he’ll be dead if I lose anyway. It’ll make collecting a right bitch.” Varric chuckled. 

“He’s currently penniless, you know.” Maria scolded lightly. “I’ve tried to pay him and he refused it.” 

“Hey! Why am I not gettin’ paid?” Sera asked touchily. 

“I’m turning a blind eye to your extracurricular activities.” Maria answered simply. 

“He’s going to inherit that estate in Minrathous whether or not his family likes it. I’ll collect then.” Varric answered with a grin. 

Fenris grunted in exasperation at the same time Cassandra did. Hawke and Varric shared an amused and beleaguered look. 

“I’ll follow the siege equipment and Cullen and go in the front.” Maria finally said. “It seems the best option.” 

“Then I will go with you as your shield.” Cassandra stated with steely determination. Maria nodded absently, playing with the chain around her neck. 

“We’ll take Dorian and Stroud as well, and…” Maria looked back at Varric, an eyebrow raised. “Unless you’re having second thoughts, you as well.” 

“Never.” Varric said, patting Bianca. “We’re ready to go, Princess.” 

“And the rest of us?” Fenris asked. 

“We’ll take the western wall.” Hawke offered gamely. “Help the soldiers get a foothold.” 

“And send a group to the east wall too. Sera, Bull, and Vivienne will do well there.” Maria said, tapping her fingers against her lips. “Have Solas, Blackwall, and Cole stick with Cullen. I’m making a beeline to the Warden Commander and stopping this madness as quick as I can.” 

“Understood.” Cassandra nodded, falling back to inform the rest of the group. Maria tugged her braided hair and turned to look at Hawke. 

“When this is over, do you think you can sign my book?” She asked. “Both of you?” 

“Tale of the Champion?” Hawke asked, laughing. “Sure, why not. I saw Varric already did.” 

“If I’m lucky, maybe I can get all of you.” Maria smirked. 

“I will consider it.” Fenris said gravely. “Varric, shout if you’re in trouble.” 

“Like if we’re ambushed and killed by crazed Grey Wardens?” Varric asked.

“I suppose that would be trouble.” Hawke replied blithely, dropping a kiss on his cheek. “See you later.” 

Hawke moved to join the western group with a cheerful wave and nod, falling into step beside the mules pulling a trebuchet. She appeared blissfully unaware of the stares and whispers they attracted as she counted the potions in her belt. 

“See them…” A soldier whispered. “That’s the Champion of Kirkwall and her lover.” 

“Heard she fought off seventy templars on her own! Maker, she’s shorter than I thought she’d be.” 

“I met the Hero of Ferelden, when I served in King Alistair’s army. They’re cousins. Fancy our Inquisitor is related to them too?” 

“Her husband kills blood mages for sport. I heard it myself from someone from the Marches.” 

Fenris snorted and looked over at Hawke, who was grinning and shaking her head. “After this, I think we should disappear again.” He said quietly. 

“We still have to find Anders, remember? He’s advocating your murder.” Hawke said somberly. 

“Let him come, apparently I slay maleficar for fun.” Hawke actually giggled, hiding her face in the soft ruff of fur at her collar. 

“I don’t want to disappear. I want to go back to Kirkwall. I want to see Carver and Merrill, Isabela. I’m tired of moving around and running, aren’t you?” She asked. 

“There will be time to discuss our plans. After.” Fenris promised. She reached out, her gauntlets cool on his skin.

“Promise me, no unnecessary risks.” She challenged. 

“I promise.” He answered. “I am not as reckless as you are.” 

Hawke didn’t quite look as if she believed him, and her eyes dropped to his waist, where the Amell crest hung proudly once again. She straightened it tenderly, then nodded as if pleased before catching him with those beautiful blue eyes. “Yes you are.” She said gently. 

 

The ladders went up against the walls, the trebuchets fired from overhead. Fenris could hear nothing over the arrows pelting uselessly against Hawke’s barrier, the stones and debris being thrown from overhead and crashing on the men. He was already covered in blood not his own as the first soldier began up the ladder. A swordsman nearly decapitated him as he reached the top and the body came crashing down. “Damnit!” Fenris swore. 

“I’m taking the barrier down.” Hawke warned, the energy zipping back into her quickly as she lifted her hand, flames burning in her palm. With calculated elegance, she tossed the fire up, the ball of flames growing as it flew over the wall. Fenris heard someone scream, smelt burned flesh. “Go!” Hawke yelled. 

Fenris was on the ladder in a second, clambering up it as quickly as he could. His sword was in his hand before he was even off the rung, plunging into the chest of a shade that had been converging on the ladder. A second burst of flame from Hawke as she clambered off the ladder after him took a group of Wardens on the right. He reached behind him to pull Hawke safely onto the stone as additional demons converged on them.

Hawke’s staff blade cut through one Warden mage before she launched another spell over his head. Fenris felt the lyrium blazing fully, like he hadn’t since that night with the templars. Hawke was watching him warily and he could feel her mana pulsing, checking…

“Venhedis!” He cursed. A boulder flew over the heads, collapsing part of a tower. “I am fine, Hawke! Fight your own battles!” 

“You should still be recovering!” Hawke yelled as she froze a rage demon, then shattered it into hundreds of pieces. 

“I am as recovered as I need be!” Fenris shouted back, his blade cleaving a swordsman almost in half. Blood gushed warmly over his gauntlets. 

“And yet, I’m the reckless one!” She argued, pounding her staff down onto the ground, lighting sparking in the air. 

Fenris growled several oathes at her as he ducked and weaved, finally cutting down the last mage in front of Hawke. He pulled her to him, pressing his lips against hers quickly before pulling back. 

“You’ll be the death of me!” Hawke protested, shrugging free but unable to stop her smile. She handed him a yellow vial and took a swig of a blue one herself before taking off to the next ladder and scattering demons and Grey Wardens in every direction. Fenris followed grimly.

He heard the call from the wardens to pull back when the door fell to their siege equipment, but was unable to stop long enough to celebrate. Pausing to down even a small stamina potion or allow Hawke a moment to rest her mana was becomming impossible as the battle grew to a fever pitch. He could tell who was responsible, for all he knew it could have been Hawke, but everything wood was beginning to burn. Sweat and blood ran down his skin in equal measure. Hawke’s battlefield healing was beginning to be inadequate, he could feel at least one cracked rib from a mace he’d been too slow to dodge. Hawke had a long gash down her bare arm from a demon’s claws and the blood she’d swiped over her nose was beginning to smear across her entire face.

Then the mage she was fighting summoned a monstrous demon, larger than any Fenris had the dubious pleasure of seeing. Fenris swore as Hawke jumped back, barely dodging the creatures sparking claws. She fell to the stone as it stomped menacingly forward. Fenris tried to push past the swordsman in front of him, but the man moved and pushed forward with his shield. Hawke was tired, faltering, as she stood too slowly. 

“REYNA!” He yelled, phasing his arm through the man’s throat, pulling at the spinal cord. The man gave a strangled gasp and groaned, but Fenris was already pushing him away, sword ready as he ran forward. 

Flames were swirling around Hawke and she launched them forward, desperately. The creature batted them away as if they were nothing. Fenris was nearly there and Hawke was rolling from the creatures talons. Then he felt something, not mana, but… a powerful force nevertheless pulsing from behind him. It soared past him as he pulled Hawke up, centering on the beast. It roared as green tendrils of energy surrounded it, falling to its knees and dissipating into sparks. Fenris looked behind him and was met by a rather bloody and bruised Inquisitor, her hand held outwards and sparking madly. She hissed as she pulled it back, pressing it against her other hand. 

“You alright, Hawke?” Varric yelled, uncorking a potion and tossing it to the Inquisitor as he hoisted Bianca. 

“Well, I’m alive and that seems like cause enough to celebrate.” Hawke responded. “What  _ was _ that?” 

“I have no idea, to be honest, but it’s helpful sometimes.” The Inquisitor admitted. “Up you get. We’ve got an inner keep to breach.” 

“Quite a spectacular showing, for a hedge mage with little real training.” Dorian sniffed in mock indignation. 

“I’m quite satisfied she skipped the Tevinter school of blood magic.” Fenris replied immediately. Hawke looked absolutely delighted and Varric’s mouth dropped. 

“Broody...are you defending Hawke’s magic? I need to sit down.” Varric said, mock fanning himself with his hand.

“The banter will have to wait.” Cassandra said, readying her shield. “More demons approaching!” 

They fought well as a unit and it was hard to be unimpressed with their skill. He stayed far from Dorian’s magic, but the man was obviously quite aware of his companions, and he’d felt a barrier spring up around him more than once that was quite different from Hawke’s. Cassandra plowed ahead with a determination that reminded him, nostalgically, of Aveline. Warden Stroud cut through with icy precision, protesting to his fellow Grey Wardens to stop, to desist. /The greatest surprise, however, was Varric and the Inquisitor. 

Fenris had been complimented on how he fought at Hawke’s side more than once. It was a rhythm they’d always fallen into. At first, he’d credited it to Hawke’s experience fighting at her brother’s side. One greatsword was similar enough to another and Carver had a great amount of skill. It had taken time, but suddenly he had realized that he simply knew where Hawke would be, what she would be doing, and who she’d be aiming at. He need not guess, he was always correct. He was as aware of her as a pond was aware of ripples on its surface. She had admitted once, after too much wine, that she felt the same. 

Now, he had the opportunity to observe another team that worked seamlessly. Maria and Varric moved seemingly without thought, but always aware. If Maria stopped to pick up her own arrows, she grabbed Varric’s without thinking and tossed them to him. He caught them with barely a glance. They never aimed at the same target, but were always firing seamlessly like a never ending stream. He could see why Maria had wanted them to work together, their impact was easily tripled by working together. He wondered if they had even realized it. 

They were passing through an archway, Fenris waiting as he waved through the rest of the group. Hawke was up ahead, peering around a corner. The world slowed down for a moment as he turned to follow the last of the soldiers through the archway. He heard the incoming projectile before he consciously registered it and his body reacted automatically, throwing himself down and to the side. The boulder crashed into the stone, bringing the archway and everything above it down, blocking the passage. 

_ Reyna. _ His first thought as he staggered to his feet, staring blankly at the stone in front of him, the ruined and blocked passage. He listened, breathless with alarm. 

“Fenris!” He heard her yell, desperate, keening. The same sound she’d made when she’d seen her mother in Quentin’s clutches. Fenris rushed to the rubble, pressing his gauntlets into it and moving some of the stone. 

“Reyna!” He called back. He heard a sob catch in her throat. “Are you alright? Are you hurt?” He asked. 

“No!” Hawke yelled back. “We have to go forward, we can’t come back. If we move this…” 

“It’ll bring down the whole blasted thing on our heads.” Dorian finished. 

“Keep going.” Fenris said, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to block out the battle around him. “I’ll find a way around.” 

“Fenris…” Hawke called his name. He could picture her, head against the rubble like his was, fingers clenched tightly. He felt something tighten in his throat. “Be safe.” She was so quiet he barely heard her. 

“And you.” He replied.

“We have to go, I’m sorry.” He could hear the inquisitor, her sympathy, Varric’s comforting noises. Fenris pushed back as the sounds grew fainter, looking behind him and doubling back. It was harder going on his own, forced to engage demons and wardens in close combat. But he would get to Hawke, he would see her again. He saw the Commander below him, his lion’s helm distinctive as he roared at his troops and they pushed forward… 

“Commander!” Fenris yelled. Cullen looked up as Fenris jumped down, rolling in the dust before straightening. 

“The Inquisitor…” Cullen began. 

“With Hawke, they pushed ahead but a collapse separated me. They were almost at the inner keep. We must…” Before Fenris could finish, he heard something that he couldn’t immediately place. A shrill screech, enough to set his teeth on edge. 

“Maker help us.” Cullen whispered. Then Fenris saw it, wings beating black against the sky as it circled, red energy crackling out from it’s mouth, crashing into a building as its tail whipped a tower into ash. An archdemon, Fenris thought. The archdemon who had burned Haven. 

“The Inquisitor!” Solas yelled. “It’ll be going after the Inquisitor!” 

Hawke. Fenris thought desperately. He launched into the fray, pushing demons back. It seemed the Grey Wardens were now flocking to their side, swords clanging. But not fast enough, he thought as the dragon launched itself into the inner keep. He could hear it’s deafening roar even louder now. Someone had shot lighting at it. Maker, not Hawke he hoped fervently. The dragon was spinning upwards now, circling the highest tower, it’s broken edge jutting over the abyssal rift. 

Suddenly they were in the inner keep. “The Inquisitor! Where is she!” Cullen roared at the Grey Wardens. 

“Chasing that Magister and the Warden Commander up the tower, Ser.” An inquisition soldier reported. “Look, there!” 

The dragon had landed on the tower. He could see it slowly, menacingly, approaching small figures on the bridge. And then...something happened from underneath the dragon. Another burst of lighting. The beast screamed in pain, writhing it’s large body to the side. Stones were falling. 

“Maker, no.”  Blackwall said in horror. The bridge was going to collapse, but Fenris couldn’t…

There she was, running from the edge. He could see her braid trailing out behind her. A man, Stroud perhaps, nearly fell from the edge. But the Inquisitor, distinctive for her lack of height and a mark that seemed to be glowing even brighter from a distance had run back for him, grabbing him and pulling him up, pushing him ahead of her. The stones fell faster into the tumbling chasm. Fenris felt something hard in the pit of his stomach as he pushed forward, too late. Too late as the whole thing began to collapse. The Inquisitor went first, free falling into the abyss. Stroud joined her a moment later, then Varric. 

Hawke slowed, reacting to screams he couldn’t hear. The cracks were beneath her feet and the stone was toppling, tossing her into the air. His hand raised itself, uselessly, red ribbon hanging as a taunt as he watched. There was no magic that could save Hawke, nothing she could do to turn the air solid, to make herself fly like the bird she had reminded him of so often.

Something happened, something impossible. The Inquisitors hand was sparking and a gaping green tear opened beneath them. The Inquisitor passed through it, then the others, before it snapped shut behind them. They were gone. Hawke, gone. Impossible for him to still be here and breathing, alive when his heart was gone. 

There was a strange silent stillness among the soldiers. Then a cry. “Keep pushing the demons back!” It was Solas. “The Inquisitor opened a rift! She can still come through!” 

Cullen snapped out his trance, instantly in command again as he shouted orders. Fenris looked at them as if they were mad. Had they not seen? Did they not feel the pain he felt? 

“They are only gone, not lost.” The boy who he’d been warned away from said. “Not lost, not yet.” 

“Are you mad!” Fenris hissed. 

“No.” Solas turned, eyes blazing. “He is not. The Inquisitor has managed to pass safely through the veil once. She opened a rift and took them through it as they fell. Perhaps, they all passed through safely. If they did, the logical choice would be for them to emerge back through this rift.” 

Solas jabbed his staff at the whirling green tear above him. “Emerge?” Fenris repeated. “Alive? All of them?” 

“Maria Cadash has yet to disappoint me, Serah.” Solas said. “And your Champion is known for defying the odds, yes?” 

Something unknotted in Fenris’s chest. “Take me through this one.” He didn’t know if he was pleading or ordering. Solas shook his head. 

“I cannot. Only the Inquisitor can do so. We must wait.” Solas said. “I am sorry, but we must wait.” 


	29. The Nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maria, Hawke, Varric, Cassandra, Dorian, and Stroud face the Nightmare in the fade and learn quite a lot about each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is going completely AU (I feel like soooo much more could have been done here in game and was always very disappointed).

_Before the host of the faithful and all of the Imperium,_  
__ The servants of the Archon assembled a great dais at the feet of the Juggernauts  
And there built a pyre twice the height of a man,  
The Prophet in chains placed on a stake in the center.  
Chant of Light, Apotheosis 2:3

Varric was roughly sure they’d died. The bridge had given out under their feet, sending them spiraling into the abyssal rift. When he wrote this, and he was quite sure now that if he survived he would have to, he’d make sure to say his last thoughts were noble and despairing. He needed more time, he wasn’t done with this battle yet, all that bullshit. Instead, the thoughts Varric had as he was free falling into the void were a jumbled panic of curses. Much less romantic. 

But if he was dead, this was a shitty afterlife. No dwarven maidens, no endless ale, not even Andraste’s bosom. Instead, he’d passed through a cold green mist and had ended up standing upright here… wherever here was. All he could see was suspiciously murky water, green mist, and jagged rocks. 

Someone screamed and that snapped him from his reverie, because he  _ knew _ that voice. He twisted to look behind him and saw Maria on her knees, her sparking hand clenched painfully tight in front of her as tremors wracked her body. Varric was at her side in a second, arm around her shaking shoulders and his own hand covering her fist. Light crept through their fingers and Varric could feel it pulsing in her skin. Maria’s other hand was covering her mouth, stifling painful whimpers. 

Cassandra was on her other side, looking remarkably unruffled after falling off a bridge. She had an uncorked potion in her hand and she was pulling Maria’s hand from her mouth with her gauntlet, forcing the glass to her lips and pouring it down. “Seeker, the mark…” Varric said, hopeless. 

“She opened a rift. A fade rift. I…” Cassandra swallowed hard, her hand lightly (dare he say tenderly?) resting on Maria’s hair. “I saw what you did. I’m sure it was very painful, but we are alive because of it.” 

The tremors were subsiding and Varric could feel the tension easing in Maria’s hand. She looked up at Cassandra, her voice hoarse, tears glimmering unshed in her eyes. “The others?” she asked. 

“I am unsure.” Cassandra said, straightening. “Varric, stay with her. If… if we fell through the rift, then we are physically in the fade. Maker knows the danger.” 

Varric nodded, pulling Bianca from her harness as Cassandra began to walk forward. He rubbed a small, soothing circle on Maria’s back as she tried to catch her grasp, shooting pain still causing her occasionally to shudder under him. “Right mess I’ve got us into, huh?” She asked in between the shaking. 

“Well, I’ve had better days.” Varric admitted. When the pain started again he pulled her close and pressed his lips against her cheekbone, tangling his hand into her braid. She pressed her face into his chest and waited, quietly. 

Cassandra’s footsteps echoed loudly as she raced back, followed by Stroud, Dorian, and Hawke. “Thank the Maker for you, you brilliant woman.” Dorian said, kneeling down beside Maria. “A rift to stop us from plunging to our deaths! Brilliant!” 

“Hawke, she’s hurt.” Varric called. Hawke was by his side immediately,  removing Maria’s glove gently and rolling up her sleeve, hissing. 

“Look, it’s spread.” She said, shaking her head. “It wasn’t this far up your wrist before, right?”

“No.” Maria answered. Varric steeled himself and looked down at what Hawke was seeing, the green light flickering up like it was Maria’s blood in her veins. Hawke sighed, pulling a lyrium potion from her pouch and emptying it in one swallow before throwing the flash behind her and tracing her hand up Maria’s skin. 

“I don’t think it’s growing now… whatever you did to get us here, don’t do it again.” Hawke advised glumly. “It’s burning the nerves it’s touching. I’m going to have to… do some rearranging. This may hurt just as badly, but  then it will be better.” 

“Better be quick then.” Maria answered. Hawke sighed jerked her chin to Dorian.

“Help him hold her.” She ordered. Maria bit off another scream as Hawke’s fingertips lit blue. Varric winced and tightened his grip as Hawke worked, quickly and efficiently. When she sat back, Maria was panting but the shuddering had stopped. “Better?” Hawke asked. 

Maria nodded, breathlessly. Hawke stood, looking around and whistling low. “Oh this is extremely not good.” 

“We are physically in the fade! Think of the research opportunities!” Dorian said cheerfully. 

“Look.” Hawke pointed, frowning. Far in the distance Varric could just barely make out black spires. “That’s what happened the last time somebody got the bright idea to do this.” 

“Well, I didn’t exactly try to do this. I just...really didn’t want to die.” Maria admitted. 

“Perhaps we should focus on finding a way out.” Cassandra said, pointing to a glaring green hole in the distance. “Was there not another rift in the inner keep?” 

“So we go out that one? The one they were trying to summon a large demon through?” Varric asked. 

“Do you have a better plan?” Hawke asked. Varric sighed, standing and offering his arm to Maria. She pulled herself up as well, swaying slightly. He steadied her with a hand to her waist and smiled. 

“Well, we’re not dead yet at least.” He offered wryly. 

“Yet.” Maria repeated, shaking her head. “Let’s get out of this weird fade shit before we change that.” 

Varric heartily agreed as they moved forward. Hawke and Dorian took stock of their potions as they moved forward, shaking their heads in distress. Between all of them, they had three healing potions, two stamina draughts, a vial of deathroot poison, and and two lyrium potions. 

That’s when they ran into the soul of Divine Justinia. Or… something wearing her face anyway. He felt his as nauseous as Maria looked as they spoke, debating the realness of the vision in front of them.

“How hard is it to answer one question!” Hawke fumed. “I’m human, you’re…” 

The Divine ignored Hawke’s temper tantrum, and Varric couldn’t particularly blame her regardless of whether she was a demon or not. Instead, she focused on Maria and began speaking of lost memories… and a demon called the nightmare waiting for them ahead. 

“Well, shit.” Maria muttered. 

“Be wary, Inquisitor. It knows not of your presence, but it will soon. You will face trials, the greatest nightmares of you and your companions. It will save you for last, I fear. And when you fail, it will consume you. But if you succeed, you will regain what you have lost.” The Divine said, before fading in a flash of light. 

“That sounds...wonderful.” Hawke said. “Does everyone know what their worst nightmare is? Want to share before we get close to it?” 

“You first.” Maria said, rubbing at her eyes. “Maker, I just want to go home.” 

_ And where is that, Inquisitor? Isn’t that what they call you, for now? _

The voice came from nowhere, and everywhere. Maria straightened, eyes widening. “Please tell me everyone heard that.” 

“Yes.” Cassandra hissed between clenched teeth.

“Guess it found us.” Dorian commented. “This will be great fun.” 

_ Herald of Andraste… They burned the prophet, perhaps they will burn you too when they tire of you. It would be a fitting end, wouldn’t it?  _

“Ignore it.” Cassandra ordered. “A fear demon will know where to hurt you. It’s words mean nothing.” 

“Out.” Hawke said firmly. “We’re getting out, now.” 

“I wouldn’t let them.” Varric said, squeezing Maria’s arm. “You’re alright, Princess. We’ve got you.” 

Maria’s smile didn’t quite reach her gray eyes as they began to move. Dorian was muttering about taking samples as Stroud and Cassandra scowled bleakly ahead. Hawke was trying to hum a bit under her breath, but it sounded wrong, echoing too loud. Then suddenly…

The scene had shifted so suddenly, Varric couldn’t remember it happening at all. There was snow falling softly from the sky, sticking to his shirt. It looked exactly as it had when Hawke had summoned a blizzard that last First Day. He looked up into clear gray sky, puzzled. Maria lifted her bare hand and caught some of the flakes on her skin. 

_ Perhaps I should be afraid. Facing the most powerful members of the Inquisition… Isn’t that right, Cassandra?  _

“Seeker…” Varric mumbled. “It’s coming for you.” 

Cassandra reached for her sword, fingers tightening around the hilt. “The Maker will guide us.”

_ Your inquisitor is a fraud, Cassandra. Yet more evidence there is no Maker, that all your faith has been for naught.  _

“Die in the void, demon!” Cassandra spat. The field in front of them stirred, an icy wind carrying snow past them. 

“It’s not real.” Hawke shouted above the cry of the wind. “It’s only the fade. Nothing is real here!” 

_ But this was real, wasn’t it Cassandra?  _

A man was running towards him, his dark eyes flashing. He was tall, well-built, and in armor that probably cost as much as a house. A rider was gaining on him, a wicked scythe gleaming in the light. 

“Anthony.” Cassandra breathed. “ _ Anthony! _ ”

The Seeker wasn’t there...but she was. When Varric blinked, a young girl stood in Cassandra’s place in a white dress, horrified. The scythe caught the man’s neck, blood gushing as it separated from his shoulders and the girl that was (would be?) Cassandra screamed. 

Things burst from the ground, fresh corpses with their skin rotting off. The young girl was collapsed in the middle of them, hiding her head as one approached her. The creatures long, grasping fingers reached out hungrily…

An arrow landed in its forehead, sending it to the floor. Maria had her bow in her hand and an expression of grim disgust. “Cassandra!” She yelled. 

Varric pulled Bianca and began firing at the corpses as they stumbled forward. Hawke set the nearest one on fire and still Cassandra remained, immobile, regressed to a cowering child. Varric would never have believed it. 

_ How does it feel to be helpless again, Cassandra?  _

The nightmare was laughing, it’s dark humor rumbling in Varric’s chest. “Seeker!” Varric yelled. “You have your sword, use it!” 

The girl looked up at him, uncomprehending as he dodged the swipe of a creatures claws. Stroud had to launch himself between Cassandra and another of the things, taking a stinging blow to his ribs. 

“CASSANDRA!” Maria yelled. “If you don’t use your sword, I WILL!” 

Hawke was beside Cassandra now, magic sparking in her open hand. “I’m with you, you’re not helpless.” Hawke said. “Come on now, where’s your sword?” 

As if she was talking to a child, Varric shook his head in disbelief. But whatever it was, it worked, because when Cassandra looked down the sword was in her hand. Then when Varric blinked again, Cassandra (fully grown, thank the Maker) was thrusting her blade into a corpse beside Hawke. 

It was over as quickly as it started, the illusion crumbling around them in a whirl of green, leaving them back on the path to the rift in one piece, but shaken. Cassandra screamed in fury, throwing her shield from her arm. 

“Well, that was...interesting.” Dorian said. 

“I failed!” Cassandra stormed. 

“No you didn’t. Notice the distinct lack of taunting right now?” Hawke grinned, nudging Cassandra’s ribs. “Come on, you did fine.” 

“You don’t think we’ll all become children, do you?” Varric asked nervously. 

“Maker, I hope not. I’d never be able to look at you with a straight face again.” Hawke responded. 

“Onward.” Cassandra demanded, turning her blazing eyes on Maria. “I will not fail you again, Inquisitor.” 

“You never have.” Maria answered immediately. 

They moved forward, even more wary and subdued. Maria’s eyes swung back and forth, searching for traps. 

_ Greetings, Dorian. It is...Dorian, isn’t it? I almost mistook you for your father.  _

“Rather uncalled for.” Dorian chirped. 

Maria coughed at the sudden pungent scent of heavy incense, drawing her scarf up over her nose. “What in the Maker’s ass…” 

There was a man in front of them now, an older copy of Dorian. His hair was graying at the temples, but he looked radiantly happy. He was holding a blade out, hilt first to Dorian. “My son, welcome home.” 

“Well, Minrathous has certainly gone to shit if this is home.” Dorian said. “Begone, fiend.” 

“You could come home, Dorian.” The man said adamantly. “Come home...we’ll find a nice young man to introduce you to. We could work together again, Dorian, to make the Imperium truly great. I have missed you.” 

As the man spoke, Dorian’s eyes began to glaze. The fade was shifting around them, solidifying into a comfortable country home. Varric could see fruit trees from open doors, a breeze blew in and brought the smell of honeysuckle. 

“I only need one thing, Dorian. The Inquisitor is destroying what is left of our reputation. For Tevinter to be safe, she must go. For your family to be safe, Dorian, I am counting on you.” The man pled passionately. Slowly, haltingly, Dorian’s hand reached out and took the hilt of the knife. 

“Traitor!” Cassandra yelled. 

“Cassandra, stop!” Maria ordered, holding her hand up and watching the horrified expression on Dorian’s face. The illusion was continuing to solidify. Maria moved forward slowly, to Dorian’s side. 

“It’s alright.” She soothed softly like she was approaching a frightened animal. 

“Maria…” Varric cautioned. 

“It’s a nightmare.” She said simply, taking Dorian’s hand. It shook as she pulled his hand forward, bringing the blade up to her throat. “It’s just a nightmare Dorian.” 

Varric could feel his own pulse thundering as he leveled Bianca at Dorian’s chest, waiting. Dorian was staring down at Maria, eyes far away. She continued to stand, calm and still. 

“Maker I hope she knows what she’s doing.” Hawke said softly. 

“Fasta vass!” Dorian swore finally, eyes clearing as he drew his hand away and flung the blade at the ghostly vision of his father. Both knife and man disappeared, the fade slowly reemerging. “You’re insane!” 

“You wouldn’t do it.” Maria cracked a smile. “I  _ know _ you Dorian.”

“He just didn’t offer the right thing.” Dorian said wearily. “Half a dozen nude soldiers? Your throat would have been slit quicker than Varric could have shot me.” 

“I’m pretty quick.” Varric sighed in relief, before glaring at the back of Maria’s head in frustration. 

“We can’t leave the nightmare until the person overcomes it.” Hawke muttered. “If he never overcame his fear, we could never move on.” 

“So it seems.” Cassandra said dryly. “Although I suppose the Inquisitor’s death would also have prevented it.” 

“Luckily, I didn’t die.” Maria patted Dorian’s shoulder fondly.

“This time.” Cassandra predicted sourly. 

They continued to trudge along, dreading whatever came next. The voice of the nightmare demon was alarmingly silent. Varric didn’t think he’d grow to miss the taunting, but at least it was a change of pace from weird water and jagged rocks. That was, until he turned the corner and nearly ran into Hawke. 

“It’s the Gallows.” She said. “Mine or yours, Varric?” 

“We’d better find out.” He replied sourly. “Bianca hopes there’s more shooting involved and less mind games, to be honest.” 

They walked down the steps and into the Gallows courtyard. They were almost halfway through when a small voice called out from behind them. 

“Sister?” 

Hawke didn’t turn, but Varric did. Hawke had squeezed her eyes shut and he could see her lips moving, repeating the words ‘only the fade’ over and over. There was a young woman behind them, her white tunic splattered with blood, skull caved in on the right side. “Why did you leave?” She asked petulantly. One eye socket was empty, the other eye was filled with tears. “You promised Father you’d protect me.” 

“Hawke...you have to look or we can’t go through.” Maria said softly. “We’re right here, it isn’t real.” 

“Is it Bethany?” Hawke whispered. 

“Yes, Waffles.” Varric said gently. “I think so.” 

Hawke’s eyes flew open and she turned, staring her sister down. She flinched back at her appearance, taking a step backwards. “You’re dead. I’m sorry, but this isn’t real.” Hawke’s voice was strained. 

“Sister!” Another voice, and when Varric turned he saw Carver, slumped on the ground. The man dissolved into coughing, his whole frame wracked as bright red blood appeared on his lips. “Why did you take me?” He asked. “I would have been  _ safe _ . I could have kept Mother safe!”

And before them, on the stones, he saw Leandra’s body as he’d last seen her. She was a stitched together monstrosity, and this is what caused Hawke to cry out and stumble towards her. The word mother pulled from her lips as she sank to her knees. Varric was beside her in an instant, pulling her up. “Come on, Hawke.” He mumbled. “We gotta keep going.” 

“It is your fault.” Leandra’s corpse muttered. “You promised, and we’re all dead.” 

“Carver is not.” Cassandra said immediately, on Hawke’s other side. “Your brother is not dead, Champion.”

_ Reyna Hawke… did you think anything you ever did mattered? You couldn’t even save your city. How could you expect to strike down a God? _

Suddenly, the courtyard was full of corpses in templar armor and mage coats, elven commoners, fine nobles in fancy dress, children. Varric could smell smoke, and when he looked over his shoulder he could see Kirkwall burning in the distance. Before them, he could hear shouting. When he looked up…

Anders was coming down the steps to meet them as he’d been when they first met. Robes grimy, a bit of dirt on his cheek, smiling winningly at Hawke as he approached. He was dragging something behind him, something heavy. “Hawke!” He called cheerfully. 

Maria shifted uneasily, glancing up at Hawke who had gone still as a statue. “It’s over now, sweetheart. Everything I started, finished!”

“Don’t call me that.” Hawke growled, breaking free of Varric’s grip and swirling her staff forward. “Do not…” 

With a flourish, Anders produced the sword he had been dragging behind him, tossing it down the remaining steps. The metal clattered on stone as it toppled, spinning to a stop at their feet. Fenris’s sword, with a red ribbon tied around the hilt like a gruesome present. 

Varric felt time stop for a moment, then Hawke was out of his grip and rushing forward, past the thing that wasn’t Anders. Cursing, Varric followed. 

_ Fenris is going to die just like your family, and everyone you ever cared about. The only life you ever saved will be your biggest mistake. All this blood is on your hands, Champion.  _

Fenris was laying in a pool of his own blood, eyes staring lifelessly at the gray sky above them and Hawke was sobbing, screaming his name, staff clattering to the stones in her rush to get to him. She was on the ground next to him, pulling his limp form into her arms, magic glowing on her skin. “No.” She whispered. “No, no, no no…” 

“Hawke!” Varric yelled, pulling her shoulder back. Her skin was smouldering and when she looked up, he could see flames in her blue eyes. 

_ That’s it, Champion. Show us that rage. _

“Hawke!” His fingers gripped her harder. “Listen to me! He’s alive, Hawke! Carver is alive! Isabela, Merrill, Aveline, me! We’re still here, don’t give in!” 

For a moment, Varric was sure he hadn’t gotten through. He thought for sure his skin would ignite with the heat she was throwing off. One tear steamed right off her skin and then she reached for him, her hands on his shoulders, sobbing into his chest. The gallows disappeared in a swirl of ashes, the bodies, Fenris, gone. All that was left was Hawke’s sobbing, her shoulders heaving. 

“I’ve got you.” Varric whispered as Maria approached with Hawke’s discarded staff. “We’ll get you back to him, Waffles. I promise.” 

“We can stop, rest a bit.” Maria offered softly. Hawke stopped, pulling back and wiping her face against her arm. 

“No.” She said. “We have to keep going. Maker knows what’s happening in the real world.” 

“You must love him very much.” Cassandra said gently. “It speaks well, to both of you.” 

“Thank you.” Hawke sniffled, standing slowly. “Let’s go.” 

“Just me, you, and Stroud.” Varric said. 

“The Nightmare will not target me.” Stroud said. “My greatest fear has already come true, the Wardens have fallen and I have dedicated my life to a cause that may fail. It has nothing left to frighten me with.” 

“Right, just us then.” Varric said dryly. Maria sighed in resignation. 

They’d just started moving again when Varric head the demon begin to chuckle darkly again. 

_ Once again, Hawke is in danger because of you, Varric. Better yet, your precious Inquisitor is caught in the mix as well! You found the red lyrium, you brought Hawke to Corpyheus, you hid an abomination who murdered hundreds, perhaps thousands. Did you do it for the right reasons, Varric? Or was it greed all along?  _

“Just keep talking smiley.” Varric muttered. The thing laughed and it felt like it’s laughter was taking physical shape. Dark clouds formed arching ceilings, exquisitely tiled floors. In front of him, Bartrand was leaning over a sturdy, gaudy table and his eyes were gleaming. 

“We’ll be rich!” He crowed. “Think of it, little brother! We’ll be able to buy our place back in Orzammar!” 

Someone laughed behind him, but before Varric could turn the man was walking through him and Varric did a double take. It was  _ himself  _ and most definitely not him. The man was stroking a rather impressive beard, chuckling darkly in a way that almost reminded him of...something. Varric was finding it hard to concentrate as he watched the other man lean over Bartrand. 

“Finding that apostate was a stroke of luck, locking them down there was an even better deal. Never split a cut if you don’t have to.” Not Varric said. 

“Exactly!” Bartrand crowed. “Glad to see you learned something from dad after all.” 

A small voice, female, whispered beside his ear but he couldn’t catch the words and when he turned he saw no one. 

“No one will miss them anyway.” He watched himself say. “Maybe we can finally buy ourselves some lovely brides, hm?” 

Bartrand laughed and someone cursed far away. He could feel a flare of heat from his left, then… 

There was someone warm pressing up against his chest, someone’s hand in his hair and lips against his that were demanding. His eyes closed, and when he opened he saw Maria pulling away from him. “Varric, a little help here?” She asked. 

Varric looked up, and saw the spiders clambering over the table, both dwarves were looking at him now with wide mouths full of too many teeth. “Shit.” Varric stumbled back, caught by a pale arm and pushed upright.

“Shoot them!” Hawke ordered, another burst of flame igniting the spiders. Maria moved out of the way and the reassuring weight of his crossbow was in his hands as he pulled the trigger several times in rapid succession until the dwarves with too many teeth and greedy eyes fell. 

“Interesting.” Dorian said calmly as the room faded, leaving only the burned corpses of spiders. “I think you should keep the beardless look, personally. If you’re taking opinions.” 

“Glad you think so.” Varric answered, trying to ignore the shaking in his hands. “Thanks.” 

“Oh anytime.” Hawke answered, nudging Varric closer to Maria. “Or at least, anytime we have the Inquisitor around to take the initiative.” 

Cassandra scoffed, eyes on the ground and a fierce red blush on her cheeks. “Seeker! Are you blushing?” Varric asked. 

“Let’s continue, before I am stuck here forever with you.” Cassandra said, pushing past. 

“There are worse fates, surely.” Maria said, hesitating. “We’re so close. Perhaps...there won’t be a nightmare for me.” 

“There almost certainly will be.” Cassandra said, concern etched on her face. “Do you know what we will face?” 

It would have taken a blind man to miss the fear in Maria’s face. She nodded mutely and Cassandra placed her hand on her shoulder. “Stay with me, Inquisitor. We will see you through.” 

Everyone nodded and Maria took a deep breath, casting her eyes to the rift before taking her first determined step, then the second. Eventually, Varric quit counting as they walked, but something was happening. Varric could hear screaming, distant but coming closer. He could smell something burning and he saw the color slowly draining from Maria’s face. Then Varric saw palatial walls soaring over them, and felt the heat against his skin. In addition to wood smoke, he smelled something sickeningly like human flesh burning. 

“I know this place, it is…” Cassandra began. 

“Hercinia.” Maria finished quietly staring up at the walls blankly. Hawke hissed in shock, reeling back. Something was dancing on the edges of Varric’s memory, but he couldn’t quite make the connection. 

“During the blight, Varric said you lost someone.” Hawke began. “Hercinia...a bunch of Ferelden refugees fleeing from Amaranthine ended up there. Some of them were sick, very sick, with the blight. It began to spread at the docks…” 

“Maker, no.” Dorian gasped. “They didn't.” 

“They locked the gates and set the docks on fire.” Varric finished, finally making the connection. “Rather than risk letting the blight spread. Everyone inside… shit, Maria…” 

“They didn’t all have the blight. Not even all the refugees.” Maria said softly. Her fingers shook as she took a step forward, pressing her palm to the wall and staring up at the smoke rising above it. 

_ The mighty Inquisitor, Herald of Andraste, trembling. How delicious. I have fed well on your fear, girl.  _

“We’ll go around.” Varric began. “There has to be a way…” 

“We have to go through.” Cassandra interrupted. “The only way is through it. You must face this, Inquisitor.” 

Maria’s face was growing softer, younger as they watched. Even her gray eyes lost their determined edge, shining fearfully out of the face of a woman a decade gone. Her hair was longer, braided cleverly in two rows that hung down past her neck with shining ribbons intertwined in them. She wasn’t in her leather armor, but in a blue blouse embroidered with yellow daisies and cream colored breeches. The type of outfit a young woman would wear when meeting her sweetheart. Varric’s stomach was somewhere around his knees but the girl nodded at Cassandra’s words, pushing her braids back from her shoulders and clutching not a bow, but the dagger she always wore at her waist instead.

Cassandra led them along the wall, looking for a way over the high stones. Finally, they found a stack of crates stacked like a staircase. Varric looked at them dubiously, but Hawke marched ahead. She scrambled over the crates and to the top of the wall, looking down and not quite hiding the horror on her expression. 

_ What was his name, Herald? The boy who burned to death waiting for you? Fynn, wasn’t it? _

“This isn’t going to be easy.” Hawke shouted down. 

“When is it ever.” Varric said under his breath. 

“My lady, we must go.” Stroud said, taking Maria’s arm. She was far too pale, staring up at Hawke above them. 

“I can’t do this.” She whispered. “I can’t.” 

“Yes you can.” Varric said, taking her hand. It felt small in his. “Just hang onto me, got it?” 

He had to help her up onto the crates, her limbs moving stiffly. She began to notice small things happening, a rip in her cream pants that shouldn’t have been there, the shoulder of her blouse hanging loosely off her shoulder, braids coming undone. A swollen lip, a long gash on her forehead that had stopped bleeding already. When she pushed her sleeves up in annoyance, he saw rope burns on her wrists. What the hell had happened? He looked helplessly at Hawke, who had noticed the same changes. She frowned. 

“It’s a memory and a nightmare. The more she thinks about it, the more accurate it gets.” Hawke explained. 

“I suppose asking her to stop thinking about it would be useless, yes?” Dorian asked, staring with a deep sorrow at Maria. Varric looked out over the scene from the very void before him, houses and warehouses going up like dry timber. People were running towards the boats in the harbor to their east, desperately trying to make their escape. Varric remembered that’s where they’d began the fire, lighting the boats. The sorry bastards never stood a chance. He saw one figure wreathed in flames drop to its knees, a small bundle of fabric wriggling in its arms and a chubby fist waving. 

“Maria.” Varric called as the woman made her way to the edge of the wall. She didn’t react, she didn’t even appear to hear him. “Maria!” He called again, louder. 

“Maria!” Another voice cut in and a younger dwarf was holding onto Maria’s elbow. Beatrix was heartbreakingly young in this vision, her face still retaining some traces of baby fat on her cheeks. “We’re too late, I’m sorry we have to go…” 

“No.” Maria whispered, and there was rope in her hands now that trailed down the wall. She was tying it to a pole supporting a fluttering banner.

“I’m not going with you!” Beatrix yelled, fear straining her child’s features. “If you’re going to kill yourself, you do it!” 

“Fine then!” Maria yelled back. The rope was in her hands and she was rappelling down the wall before any of them could stop her. For the first time, Varric was sure he heard Cassandra cursing. 

“What now?” Stroud asked grimly. 

“We follow, what else?” Varric asked, taking the rope in his own hands. He shared a grim look with Hawke before rappelling down the wall as well. The heat was unbearable and he coughed at the smoke. Maria was already taking off, running forward unheedingly into the flames. 

_ You’ve never escaped these flames, Maria Cadash. They’ve been waiting to consume you.  _

Varric sincerely hoped, before this was all over, he’d get a chance to shoot this nightmare demon right in it’s damned mouth. Without waiting, Varric rushed after her. It’s only the fade, he thought as the flames pressed closer and burned hotter, Hawke said it wasn’t real. It certainly felt like his chest hair was burning right off, though. 

“Fynn!” Maria yelled, desperate and terrified. He could hear her calling even if he couldn’t see her from the smoke and flame. A small part of his heart rebelled, jealousy rearing dangerously. This isn’t real, he repeated, it was the fade. Just the damned Fade. Varric hated it. 

She was coughing now, the smoke choking her. “Varric!” Hawke yelled from behind him, equally desperate. Varric almost answered, but then he caught sight of Maria, kneeling on the ground and coughing into her sleeve. There was a figure emerging from the wall of flames in front of her, as if he was made from the fire. About Varric’s height, but the rest of the features were gone, scorched away by flames as he opened his mouth in an agonized scream before toppling to the ground in front of Maria, crawling towards her. 

_ You will burn Herald. The world will burn. You have already failed, you will always fail.  _

“Maria!” Varric shouted, fingers digging into her shoulder as he pulled her back from the grasping hands of the burning dwarf. 

“Let me go!” She struggled, pushing him away. “Let me go!” 

_ You should have died here, Herald.  _

“No!” Varric shouted. “You don’t die here. You don’t die at the conclave, you don’t die at Haven, and you are certainly not dying in the asscrack of a nightmare demon.” Varric wrapped his arms around her, pulling her to him. She shook in his arms like a leaf. “It isn’t real. It’s only a nightmare. You just have to wake up.” He whispered. 

“Varric.” She muttered. He pulled back, just enough to see her steely gray eyes staring into him, her red hair shorter now, fancy clothes replaced by her leather armor, dagger sheathed at her waist and bow in her hand. “You have to let go.” 

Varric wanted to argue, but her jaw was set in a line he knew too well. I love you, he thought desperately. Instead, his fingers loosened and she pulled away, turning to the wall of flames in front of them. “Through.” She whispered. “We have to go through it.” 

She moved slowly, deliberately, past the corpse on the ground and into the flames. The inferno intensified, a whirlwind of flames, heat, ashes and smoke. Maria was alone, wreathed in flames like a holy vision and then there was nothing but the fire, which dissolved into the temple of Sacred Ashes and the Divine held by Grey Wardens, an orb knocked into the air, Maria’s hand catching it and the explosion that had rocked the world. Maria and the Divine running, spiders, and then… 

Maria knelt in front of him, palms flat on the stone of the fade and tears running silently down her face. Flames flickered around her red hair, then they were gone as well. It was painfully quiet. In front of her were lines of tombstones inscribed with their names and a few words under each. Cassandra, helplessness. Dorian, temptation. Solas, dying alone. Iron Bull, madness. Vivienne, irrelevance. Varric, becoming his parents. Blackwall, himself. Sera, the nothing. Cole, despair. Stroud, destruction. Hawke, death. The last, and largest, had the full title. Maria Cadash, Inquisitor, Herald of Andraste. Underneath was only two words, the flames. Varric looked behind him and saw only shocked and horrified faces as Maria stood slowly. The figure that was the Divine, or very likely wasn’t, stood in front of them shimmering with a sad smile on her face. 

“You must pass through flame to be forged anew.” She said softly. “Quickly, now. You have weakened it by facing the fear, but only for a moment. Now is your chance.” 

“Good.” Maria said, stomping forward past the gravestones. “I’m sick of this place.” 

“Here, here.” Hawke chimed in, following her with just a passing squeeze to Varric’s shoulder. Almost there, he thought looking up the stairs and at the rift just beyond their reach. Hold on, he thought, just a bit longer Princess. 


	30. Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rift is sealed, Fenris deals with the aftermath. Maria argues with Varric.

 

If Fenris ever saw another demon, it would be entirely too soon. He found himself fighting with Cullen on his right, the mage called Solas on his left and the lad they called Cole (something was wrong with the young man, something...but Fenris could not determine what) dancing between them. Before him, the grand enchanter Vivienne had lost her outrageous henin and she struck out with ice in fury. Beside her, the Iron Bull charged through several shades with several curses in Qunlat. Fenris ignited his marks and phased through a rage demon, leaving Solas to freeze it so he could turn and shatter it. 

“Nice!” He heard the Iron Bull shout in appreciation. “Love it when they shatter.”

Fenris barely heard it, barely acknowledged it. It had been how long since Hawke fell? Ten minutes? Fifteen? As his blade sunk into a Grey Warden mage, Fenris heard Solas shout from behind him and felt the wild, untamed magic of the rift swirl around them. 

“Something is coming through! Look alert!” Cullen shouted. Fenris turned, shoving past the elven mage. 

“Wait!” Solas commanded. “It could be more demons!” 

“It could be my wife!” Fenris growled, approaching the rift, slicing through another shade that attempted to bar his path. The rift began to glow, brighter, wilder, and then…

Cassandra appeared, the Tevinter altus beside her and blood staining his shoulder as he ripped his robe open to look at the long, deep gash. Cassandra’s sword was at the ready as she surveyed the scene, the only evidence of their time in the fade an unsightly gash on her face. “Commander!” Cassandra called. 

“Where is the Inquisitor?” Cullen called out. Fuck the inquisitor, Fenris thought, reaching his hand toward the altus and catching his robes in his hand. 

“Where is Hawke?” Fenris asked menacingly. 

“Kaffas, unhand me!” Dorian protested. “She was right behind us…” 

The rift glowed again and Fenris released the mage, straightening. He could see...just barely two figures through the mist of the rift. Pale shadows of people, and too short to be Hawke. They weren’t looking through the rift, but over their shoulders at something. The one shadow went to raise a crossbow…

The other shadow was faster, jamming an elbow into the second shadow’s ribs and shoving. Varric was tumbling out of the green rift and to his knees, blood streaking through his blonde hair and over his forehead and into his eyes. The shadow behind him in the rift vanished like smoke as Varric sputtered and swore, pushing himself up quickly. 

“Varric! What has happened?” Cassandra asked. 

“Hawke and Stroud, damnit, Maria!” He yelled, pushing forward to make his way back to the rift. The altus swore again, reaching for Varric with his uninjured limb. Cassandra took Varric’s other arm, pulling the struggling man back as he yelled for the dwarven inquisitor and Hawke… his Hawke. Varric’s eyes looked around wildly, landing on Fenris and his mouth formed one word. 

“ _ Go! _ ” He shouted, his fist connecting with Dorian’s cheek. Fenris didn’t need to be told twice, rushing past both warriors before they could think to let go of the struggling dwarf towards the rift. He could feel the magic sliding sickeningly over his skin in an evil parody of a lover and then he was pushing through the hole in the veil and stumbling into the fade itself. 

It was exactly as horrible as he thought it would be, but nothing could have prepared him for the spider as tall as the grandest buildings in Minrathous, with thousands of eyes that gleamed green as the mist swirling around him. Someone, a man, was screaming and then his eyes locked on two figures making their way between the spider’s many legs. 

The taller figure was unsteady and leaning on the shorter, her dark braid unraveled and eyes unfocused, limping on one leg. Hawke’s other leg had a piece of bone broken through her pale skin and the cloth of her pants. The dazed expression spoke of a head wound, he’d seen it often enough. The smaller woman had Hawke’s arm around her shoulders and a quiver swung over her back, but no bow. One arm was wrapped around Hawke’s waist, the other hung uselessly at her side at a twisted angle. Both stopped short at the sight of him and Hawke sobbed, swaying dangerously. 

“Not real.” Hawke muttered, deliriously. “Not real.” 

“Reyna.” The word wasn’t just her name, but a prayer of thanks to the very Maker as he rushed forward. The spider screeched in the background and he heard a man’s voice shout. Maria looked over her shoulder, horrified. Fenris was taking Hawke, swinging her arm over his shoulder and wrapping his arm around her waist. Tears were running down her cheeks as she reached out a trembling hand to touch his face. 

“I’m real, amata. I promise.” He swore. 

“Get out.” Maria ordered, turning back to the spider. Fenris could see Stroud now, dodging the spider’s pincers. His stomach lurched at the sight of the man’s left arm, shield gone, hanging only by exposed and cracked bone to his shoulder. “Stroud!” She called as she began to head back. 

“Venhedis!” Fenris swore, using all his strength to clutch onto Hawke. If the Inquisitor died here, they would never be able to close this rift. He looked back toward Stroud, who was looking back fiercely. Understanding passed between him and the man and Stroud nodded, setting his jaw in determination. 

“Inquisitor! It has been an honor!” Stroud shouted, burying his sword in the creature’s underbelly. “For the Wardens!” 

Maria stopped short, unbroken arm clenching her hand into a fist as she looked helplessly at Stroud, then back at Fenris and Hawke. Fenris thought, for a moment, he would have to grab her as well and pull her through the rift. Instead, she darted to Hawke’s other side and took Hawke’s other arm around her neck. Between the two of them, they dragged Hawke forward. Then they were stumbling from the rift, into the real world, bright air surrounding them and Maria’s hand sparking as she stood in stunned silence, looking at the rift behind her that was already closing with blank, empty eyes. Around him, the rest of the demons were dissolving into green sparks and flying back towards the rift. And the rift was becoming smaller, smaller, and then with a great noise it was gone and the troops erupted into cheers around them. 

Hawke was clutching his neck as if she was drowning and she was crying, painful angry and silent tears that scalded as he knelt gently, laying her on the bloody stone. “You’re real.” She whispered. “Real.” 

Fenris felt a lump in his throat as he kissed her temple. He could feel the solid bump on her head now, an angry knot where he guessed her head had been bashed into the rock of that blighted place. “Your leg.” He whispered. 

“Maria!” Varric had finally twisted himself free of the mage and seeker and was staring at the Inquisitor with the same naked relief Fenris felt. Then it was replaced by fury. “What in Andraste’s ass were you thinking going back, alone!” 

Fenris would have loved to hear that answer, but Cullen was grabbing the Inquisitor’s shoulder. “You’re alive, Maker’s breath, you’re  _ alive. _ ” Cullen said with a beaming smile. 

“Never any doubt, boss.” Iron Bull said, critically examing Dorian’s wound with his one eye. 

“The warden mages are free of Corypheus’s control, although…” Solas began. 

“Nightmare demon was doing it.” Hawke muttered, still dazed. “Rift closed, Nightmare demon weakened, Stroud…” 

“Hawke.” Fenris said loudly, drawing her eyes back to his. “We need to get you taken care of…” 

“Allow me.” Solas said. “I lack her skill, but I can start the process. She will be able to finish when she has rested.” 

“Where is Warden Stroud?” Cullen asked. Maria’s face froze, fell and she pulled back from her group. She stared at the place where the rift had been, shoulders falling. Cullen bowed his head in a short, silent moment of prayer. 

“The Wardens...they want to know what will be done.” Cullen began.

“They’ve killed enough people, tell them to get out.” Maria said, turning and stumbling away. 

“Inquisitor!” Cullen called. The troops and remaining Wardens backed away, some dropping to their knees as she passed. She looked blindly straight ahead, disappearing into her troops. 

“What happened?” Solas asked, his hands glowing green as he looked at Hawke. Hawke closed her eyes and tears began again, shaking her head. 

“I can’t.” Hawke whispered. “I can’t.” 

 

Hawke slept most of the trip back to Griffon Wing Keep in a cart. Varric had vanished to try and find the Inquisitor, but had returned looking troubled an hour later. Fenris had raised an eyebrow at the dwarf, who had shrugged. 

“She’s avoiding me.” He answered the unanswered question. “And trying to nail her down when she doesn’t want to be found is like catching quicksilver.” 

“She pushed you through the rift. I saw, from the other side.” Fenris answered. 

“Cassandra and Dorian went through first, to test that it was safe. We were supposed to go next, but the Nightmare demon wasn’t as done as we thought it was. Damn thing lashed out and knocked Stroud and Hawke into a boulder. Hawke hit first and hit hardest, leg and head. She didn’t get up right away and I thought…” Varric shook his head, flinging the vision away. “Then she was up with flames in her palm and telling Stroud to run and we were going back for them. Or, at least I thought we were doing it together.” 

“She saved you.” Fenris observed. “And would have done so at the cost of her own life and Hawke’s and Stroud’s.” 

“And how angry does that make you? Just so I know to warn her when I eventually manage to track her down.” Varric asked casually. Fenris leaned over and brushed some dried blood from Hawke’s hair. 

“I find I am so relieved she is alive, I care not how it happened. And I can’t begrudge someone for caring about you. Although what the fascination is…” Fenris trailed off. 

“Sometimes I wonder too.” Varric said, the honesty so disarming that Fenris thought at first he had misheard. He eyed the dwarf suspiciously as the man stretched his fingers thoughtfully in his leather gloves. 

“I confess, I did not think Hawke was correct until now.” Fenris said quietly. “I have never known you to be infatuated.” 

“Is that what this is?” Varric asked. 

“Is it?” Fenris replied. Varric didn’t answer. Fenris had decided not to pry and ride on in companionable silence when Hawke’s scream pierced the air. Varric shouted at the driver to stop  the cart, but Fenris didn’t wait. His body moved immediately, leaping into the cart and wrapping his arms around Hawke as she stared at him with momentarily unseeing blue eyes. 

“Maker’s hairy…” Varric began but Hawke’s eyes had focused on him and she was crying, arms tangling around his neck and pulling him closer. 

“Anders has your sword and I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have let him go, I can’t, I couldn’t…” Hawke cried into his shoulder. 

“What?” Fenris asked, bewildered. Anders had his sword? Varric sighed and shook his head. 

“Yeah, we’re all going to have to talk about that eventually, Waffles.” Varric said wryly. “What happened in the fade shouldn’t stay in the fade.” 

Not real, he thought. Hawke had been convinced he wasn’t real. “Was I there?” Fenris asked, stroking Hawke’s matted hair. 

“Dead.” Hawke’s voice cracked. “He killed you.” 

Fenris looked questioningly at Varric, who nodded slowly. “It showed us our fears, our nightmares. Blondie murdered you in hers.” Hawke shuddered as Varric spoke and tightened her grip on Fenris’s breastplate. 

“I would not fall to the likes of him.” Fenris reassured. “Sleep, amata.” Hawke pressed more firmly into him, shaking her head stubbornly. Fenris looked over at Varric who shrugged and instructed the cart to begin moving again before swinging up onto the back himself. 

“Beats walking.” He said cheerfully as they continued their slow pace through the desert. 

 

At the keep, Varric was able to procure clean water for them to wash up in and it felt good to rid himself of the stink of the battlefield. It felt better to clean the blood and muck from Hawke’s lovely pale skin and see the evidence of healing on her injuries. “I’ll be able to finish them in a bit.” She muttered groggily as he ran a comb down her damp hair. Lucia had been at the keep to welcome them back and she laid in front of the tent protectively. 

“Don’t rush yourself.” Fenris said gently, resting his head against the back of hers. They were both shirtless and Fenris could count the freckles dotting her shoulders. “I thought…” Fenris paused uncertain, kissing her shoulder gently. “I feared I had lost you when you fell. I saw it.” 

“Oh Fenris…” Hawke muttered softly. “I had hoped you hadn’t seen.”

“Then I feared you would never emerge from the fade.” Fenris continued. 

“I thought I wouldn’t either.” Hawke admitted in a whisper. “And… I couldn’t bear the thought that I’d never see you again. I didn’t want to leave you alone, Fenris.”

“Finally, she realizes her death would destroy me.” Fenris muttered under his breath. Hawke weakly tried to slap away his hands as his arms circled her waist, pulling her back to his chest. 

“I saw Bethany, the way she looked that day the ogre...and I saw Carver dying in the deep roads.” Fenris tried to shush her, but Hawke continued, shaking head head. “I need… I need to talk about it. I saw mother the way that monster made her. And I saw Anders dragging your sword to me and tossing it at my feet like a trophy. I saw all those people that died for me, all those people caught up in the shithole that was Kirkwall those last days, but when I saw your sword all I could think of was you and how much I couldn’t bear…” 

Hawke choked on her words. Fenris brought his mouth back to her shoulder and pulled her tighter. “If I let him go and he hurts you Fenris… I could never forgive myself.” 

“Then he will not.” Fenris said simply. “I am not afraid of him.” 

He could sense Hawke’s smile, even though he couldn’t see it. “Of course you’re not.” Hawke said softly. “My brave husband, rushing in through a damned rift in the veil to drag my ass out.” 

Finally, Fenris tipped Hawke’s head to the side and captured her sweet, yielding lips with his. Alive, he thought deliriously, alive. 

 

Hawke fell asleep, and Fenris did as well. The next morning, Hawke finished healing her broken bones and demanded they find Varric and tell him what they had discovered about Anders. Her argument was sound, Varric had seen what Hawke had. Varric knew something was going on, it was best to know what.  

Hawke stormed into Varric’s tent the same way she had to his suite at the Hanged Man and Varric simply sighed, whipping off the reading glasses perched on his nose immediately. Fenris took in Varric’s appearance, unusually heavy with crumbled pieces of paper littering the ground of his tent behind him. Varric snapped his journal shut immediately and plastered on a smile that Fenris was frankly not fooled by. Neither was Hawke by the calculating look on her face as she tallied up the picture before her. 

“Where’s Maria?” Hawke asked simply. “I should thank her.” 

“Oh, doing something important I’m sure.” Varric said vaguely, waving his hand over his head. “She’ll turn up. How can I help the two of you?” 

Hawke looked for a moment like she would say something else, but instead she shrugged and held out Ander’s treatise. “We found something not so long ago. Actually, the people carrying it tried to kill Fenris not too long ago.” She said. 

“When is someone not trying to kill one of you?” Varric asked, but held out his hand while settling his glasses back on his nose. Hawke collapsed on the ground and Fenris settled himself beside her while Varric read quickly, skimming over parts, then slowing to closely examine others. As they watched, Varric’s smile dropped. Then he began swearing, shaking his head in disbelief. Finally, he got to the part about Fenris. They could tell by the noise of pure disgust Varric made and the very enthusiastic oath about which part of a nug Ander’s should be sucking. 

Fenris was strangely touched by the dwarf’s outrage. “Has Blondie gone completely mad?” Varric asked, slamming the thing back down. “Fanatics, that’s the problem.” 

“I should have killed him.” Hawke said coldly. Varric sighed, removing his glasses again and rubbing his eyes. 

None of them expected the sudden intruder who ducked through the tent flap, her red hair lose and arm in a sling. As she entered, she was saying Varric’s name, but she stopped as soon as she saw the three of them. 

“Your arm!” Hawke said suddenly, standing as much as she could in the small tent. “Maker’s ass, I forgot. I’m sure there’s lots that needs healed. I can start with you.” 

“No, no.” Maria smiled, holding up her good hand, it was the one with the sparking mark. “I’ll be alright in a day or two, they’re pouring poultices into me. I won’t deny some of the troops could use a good healer, though. I’m sure they’ve got something for Fenris to do as well.” 

They were being summarily dismissed in what was perhaps the most effortless way Fenris had ever seen. He shrewdly examined the Inquisitor as Hawke debated internally. 

“Let Hawke do it, Princess.” Varric said softly. “I need to show you something, if you two don’t mind?” Fenris shrugged his shoulders and Hawke shook her head, moving closer and lighting her fingers blue with healing magic. Maria sighed in defeat and allowed Hawke to gently trace her hand over her arm. Varric stood as well, the top of his head just brushing the tent’s canvas as he approached and handed the treatise to Maria. “It’s…”

“Oh, this shit.” Maria said, awkwardly opening the cheap binding with one hand and letting her eyes drift over the page. “I don’t know if anyone has ever seen the whole thing before, Leliana’s people have just found pamphlets.” 

Varric coughed to hide his surprise. Maria flashed a wicked grin. “She is a rather good spymaster, you know. She’ll be disappointed you thought less of her.”

“How much of it is the Inquisition aware of?” Hawke asked, staring straight at Maria’s eyes. 

“It’s the mage who blew up Kirkwall’s chantry, right? I guess he was a suspect when the conclave blew up because they found part of this there, probably one of the mages in attendance had it. Since then, they’ve found bits everywhere. His grand plan is to take vengeance on all the templars and their families. Leliana has a list somewhere of templars that were to be targeted. Cullen’s family was on it, we sent guards. Sweet Andraste, if I remember correctly the King of Ferelden was on it and he never even finished his templar training.” 

“Was I on it?” Fenris asked thoughtfully. Maria’s brow wrinkled in confusion as Hawke resumed her healing.

“No, only templars.” Maria answered. “I would have remembered you on it. We sent scouts to the people we could find. The old Knight Commander from Ferelden was on it and he died ages ago, but  he had nephews and nieces. Their whole families were slaughtered by mages. There were children.” Maria’s tone had turned hard, when she looked down at the book again, she sighed. 

“Whoever belongs to this group of his, they call themselves the Breakers. They’re no better than wild animals. Inquisition troops and scouts have standing orders to apprehend or kill whoever they find who belong to this group, including Anders.” Maria finished, shrugging. “If I can keep this whole thing, I’m sure Leliana would love to have it.” 

“I’m featured heavily in this one. As is Fenris.” Hawke explained, unknotting the sling and moving Maria’s arm experimentally. 

“Good things, I hope?” Maria asked breezily. 

Fenris nearly rolled his eyes. “They are not. Have you put any resources toward capturing this group?” 

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’ve had larger problems.” Maria pointed out. “The last reported sighting we have of Anders is that he was in Tevinter doing some rabble rousing and trying to recruit their mages to come here and fight. Josephine seems to think that he won’t get far, Tevinter can’t set its sights on the south while fighting the Qunari. Regardless, he’s out of our reach at the moment.”

“You always said he’d love Tevinter.” Hawke said with a weary sigh. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Varric asked. Maria shrugged, dropping her eyes to the floor of the tent. 

“I wasn’t honestly sure you didn’t know.” Varric’s face darkened and Maria continued on hastily. “I didn’t think you agreed, but I didn’t want to ask you to turn in…” 

“A man who’s advocating the slaughter of children?” Varric asked quietly. 

“Someone who used to be your friend.” Maria declared, tossing her red hair back. “I didn’t want…” 

“To let Leliana question me? Or Cassandra?” Varric prodded. 

“Maker’s ass, I didn’t want to make you lie to me!” Maria burst out. 

“You thought I would have?” Varric demanded, crossing his arms over his chest. “I thought you trusted me.” 

“Because you’ve never lied to anyone here before. And you’ve definitely never lied to me. Especially about your friends.” Maria responded sarcastically. Hawke released the woman’s arm and she stepped back toward the flap of the tent.

“Maria…” Varric began, but the woman held up her hand to stop him with fierce, cold eyes. 

“I shouldn’t have bothered you.” She said stiffly, then inclined her head to Hawke. “I’ll take this to Leliana. Thank you, for the healing.” 

With that, the Inquisitor disappeared. Varric let out a torrent of swear words and Hawke turned and raised up an eyebrow. 

“Varric, I know we’re in no position to talk about romance, but after what she just went through this was hardly the time or the place.” Hawke chided. 

“And you do lie, quite a lot.” Fenris added reasonably. 

“You two need to go list someone else’s failings, thank you.” Varric said, exiting the tent quickly after Maria. Hawke and Fenris let their eyes meet and they both shook their heads as if they could read each other’s thoughts. 

“Poor Varric.” Hawke mused as they stepped back out into the sunshine. 

“I think we do quite well now.” Fenris defended. Hawke snorted. “For the most part.” He amended. 

Hawke’s bright, cheerful laughter rang off the stones surrounding them. 


	31. Poetry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Inner Circle starts their return to Skyhold. Maria tells her story.

Two days after the siege of Adamant, the Inquisitor decided to leave Griffon Wing Keep and return to Skyhold. Varric was informed of this the same way most of the inner circle was, Maria’s brief appearance at breakfast where she refused to look at him. Say what you would about Maria Cadash (and people said a lot of things), but she was excellent at avoiding a situation. She was the most infuriatingly busy person he’d ever met, but she’d still spared a few moments of solitary attention for every one of her companions save Varric. 

Even worse, Blackwall had stayed after the other Grey Wardens left and Varric had a notion that a certain pair of gray eyes had something to do with it. The warden had comfortably slipped into the constant presence Varric had been and Varric was trying very hard not to choke on it. That morning at breakfast, Varric couldn’t help swearing under his breath as Blackwall left to follow Maria, his own breakfast half eaten. 

“One word.” Hawke said softly. “And I’ll set his beard on fire.” 

Varric smirked but shook his head. It didn’t matter, he told himself firmly. There was something between him and the Inquisitor that simply wasn’t there between Maria and Blackwall. Varric knew it, or at the very least, thought he did. 

Fenris and Hawke had decided to follow the exiled Grey Wardens to the Anderfels. For two reasons, Hawke had argued. The first was that someone had to make sure the wardens got there then tell the commanding officers what had happened, and the second was that she was wondering if there was any word about her cousin. The third and fourth reasons Hawke only disclosed to him. There was a lack of red lyrium north of Orlais and an apostate with murder on his mind. After these reasons were voiced, Hawke said nothing more and neither did Varric. 

In fact, nothing was said until the day the Inner Circle mounted to leave and Maria breezed past them, stopping short as she watched Varric climb onto his mount. “Inquisitor!” Hawke called, waving her over. “We promised to sign your book before you left.” 

He could see Maria’s instinct to flee, but she forced herself forward instead with a smile that could have fooled almost anyone except him. “You’ll be heading north then?” She asked as she opened her saddle bag and pulled out two copies of Tale of the Champion. One had a hole in the front cover that gave Fenris pause. Varric laughed. 

“Why did someone stab this book?” Fenris asked, personally offended. 

“The Seeker did it.” Varric explained with glee. “Did she ask you to get it signed for her, Princess?” 

“Well, sign around it.” Hawke said, scribbling her own name with a flourish. Maria wasn’t watching the two of them, but had swept her eyes over him. Varric could feel a ripple of gooseflesh from where her gaze scalded and soothed. 

“I thought you’d be going with them.” She said casually. 

“And leave you?” Varric asked, making his voice as light as possible. “I promised your sister I’d make sure you ate. I’d rather not wake up one morning to her dagger because I’d abandoned you to race north.” 

Maria pushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear impatiently. “I’m not going to force you to stay.” 

“I won’t put a story down when it’s half finished.” Varric shrugged as Hawke and Fenris handed the books back to Maria. She shrugged disdainfully and turned on her heel, walking back to the rather more impressive mount Cullen had insisted she ride. It took Cassandra’s help to get her up into the saddle. 

“You sure, Varric? We’d take you with us in a heartbeat.” Hawke offered, voice tantalizing. Varric chuckled ruefully. 

“Don’t worry, Waffles. I’ve got a plan.” Varric said with a wink. 

“You don’t need much of one.” Fenris observed as he turned to Hawke. “She still looks at you when you’re not watching.” 

“I have the utmost faith in you.” Hawke said, crossing her arms over her chest with a big grin. “Try not to get yourself killed, alright? We’ll have a pint after this is all over. Where do you have tabs at?” 

Varric laughed and returned Hawke’s enthusiastic hug and shook Fenris’s hand. Then he mounted his own pony and trotted off after the group into the dessert. He fiddled with his reigns and cursed before glancing up and catching just a glimpse of gray eyes before Maria turned quickly. 

 

Several hours later, the group stopped to water the horses. When Maria dismounted with Dorian’s assistance, she stretched her arms out and gently pulled off her gloves, settling them on her stirrup. Suddenly, Sera darted past, whooping, chased by a rather annoyed looking Cassandra. 

“What in the…” Maria started as Dorian pulled her roughly out of Cassandra’s way. Then there was a series of small popping sounds from Cassandra’s bags. With a weary sigh, Maria took off after Sera as the rest of the group scurried towards Cassandra’s pack to examine what exactly was going on. 

Varric knew an opportunity when he had one, and he wasn’t one to miss it. He chucked to himself as he took Maria’s glove, the leather butter soft under his hands. Opening it, he slipped a rolled piece of parchment into it, then settled it back over her stirrup before wandering leisurely over to where the group had all of Cassandra’s items scattered over the rocks. He could hear Cassandra’s shouting and Sera’s hysterical laughter in the distance. 

“Glad to know Cassandra had decent taste in underthings, at least.” Vivienne sniffed. 

Thirty minutes later, Maria had forced Sera to the back of the caravan and had soothingly smoothed Cassandra’s ruffled feathers. The two women were at the front now and Varric watched as Maria went to pull on her gloves, stopping for just a moment and pulling her hand back out with the rolled paper inside. 

“What is that?” Cassandra asked.

“A note.” Maria said dryly. To Varric’s horror, Cassandra leaned over the Inquisitor’s shoulder. 

“This is about to go very badly for you, dwarf.” Iron Bull observed. Of course, the Qunari spy had been paying attention to who used the chaos for their own means. “Or very, very well.” 

The two women read in silence for several seconds before Cassandra’s face turned red and she took several quick steps back. “Inquisitor, I’m sorry, I should not have…” 

Varric turned to fiddle with his own saddle, deliberately ignoring the two women while straining to hear what was said. There was a soft laugh and then Maria’s voice, laced with humor. “Well, you may as well finish reading, Cass. I know you want to.”

There was silence for a few more seconds and Iron Bull chuckled, shaking his head. Varric spared the Qunari a glance. “Keep writing whatever was in that note, Varric. The two of them that color is a gift to all of us.” 

“Poetry.” Varric explained simply with a rather cocky shrug. “If you ever need help, Tiny…” 

“Bah, who needs words when you’re the Iron Bull.” Bull stomped away, continuing to laugh at himself. Varric spared a quick glance at the two women, heads close together and a delicious pink color spreading up Maria’s ears.

 

The second poem focused solely on the fierceness and loveliness of her eyes. he slipped in her tent when they stopped for the evening and was pleased at the naked curiosity in Cassandra’s eyes when she saw him at breakfast the next morning. When he put the third one under her saddle blanket (this one talking about her flaming red hair and passionate heart), he caught Vivienne appraising him several hours later from where she had joined Cassandra and Maria. 

“Fasta vass.” Dorian cursed, staring at the women as they laughed together. “What are they all laughing about?” 

“Where beauty and passion meet, Thedas itself trembles. Hands that topple nations steady children, hands that hold a man’s heart sweep demons into the abyss.” Cole said softly. “They’re just words on a page, but they’re so much more than that.” 

“Our friend Varric has taken the old fashioned approach to wooing.” Iron Bull explained. “I’m not sure it’s working, but the women are certainly talking.” 

“I want to see!” Dorian demanded immediately. Varric shrugged nonchalantly. 

“No can do, Sparkler.” He said. 

“You are a sky of autumn’s color, pale and rose. Erasing all the sea of sadness in my blood.” Cole muttered. 

“Cole…” Varric warned. “We’ve talked about this, an author needs his privacy.” 

“Is that the next one? Do continue!” Dorian exclaimed. 

“It’s gone now. I’m sorry.” Cole said. Dorian cursed. 

“Well, I’m going to go talk her into showing me then.” Dorian said, his nose pointed upwards towards the sky as he urged his horse forward, nudging between the Inquisitor and Cassandra. Bull chuckled, shaking his head.

“I may need to take you up on that offer after all, Varric.” Iron Bull said. 

“The flames come at night still. Worse than they were before since the nightmare. You were there once instead of him and it scares her. She wanted to tell you, but then she didn’t.” Cole said, twisting the reins in his hands. “I don’t understand, but I want to help like she does. Like you do. Quiet, soothing, calming. An old song and a sky too bright to count birds against.” 

 

The next day, another poem left on her pillow and Sera sauntered up to him. “Honey-tongue you, right?” She winked, walking past into the woods while whistling. Blackwall was glaring into the fire. 

“My dear.” Vivienne purred as she sat next the to Inquisitor. “If we push, we can make it to Val Royeaux tonight. I can arrange some business and gather up some tailors. If we’re to attend the Masquerade in a few months, we must begin working on something decent for you to wear.” 

“Vivienne, I’ll be attempting to stop an assassination.” Maria commented, affixing feathers to the arrows in her lap. 

“You do need a new bow, Boss. The one you’re using now is meant for a foot soldier and you know it.” Iron Bull commented. 

“A city, with real beds.” Dorian commented wistfully. 

“Besides, there’s nothing like several new gowns to inspire new verses of admiration.” Vivienne wheedeled. Varric nearly dropped his coffee, but Maria was laughing. 

“Fine!” She said, standing. “Let me go tell Sera.” Varric looked up and was surprised to find her still smiling, but at him, bemused. Varric returned her grin and she retreated into the woods after Sera.

“I’ll go ready the mounts.” Blackwall said stiffly, standing. 

“Poor thing.” Vivienne drawled at Blackwall’s retreating figure.

They were on the road in minutes, following the imperial highway. The enticement of Val Royeaux was enough to keep everyone moving with minimal complaints and they entered the city shortly before dusk. One of Leliana’s people met them with a hearty stack of paperwork for Maria and rooms already rented at one of the best inns in the city. A bribe to the right serving maid ensured that the dinner Maria had delivered to her had another poem tied prettily with silk served alongside it. 

Which is why he was less than surprised that Cassandra was waiting outside his room, scowling as he exited in search of his own supper. “The Inquisitor is having supper in her rooms to catch up on reports.” Cassandra said stiffly.

“I’m aware, Seeker.” Varric answered. Cassandra fidgeted awkwardly in front of him, then pushed Varric back into his room and swung the door shut behind him. Varric stared up at the blushing woman questioningly. 

“I have...read the poetry you wrote her.” Cassandra began. “I must ask you about your...intentions.” 

“You have  _ got _ to be shitting me.” Varric groaned. “Seeker, this is none of your damned business.” 

“I did not expect… I was not…” Cassandra stopped, gathering herself. “You once said I had no friends, but that is untrue. I have come to respect and care deeply about the Inquisitor. She is a strong woman, proud and true. I am lucky to be able to count her as my friend. After what I saw...what we saw in the Fade…” 

Cassandra sighed wearily, hanging her head. “She has not spoken of it, and I have not pressed. But it is obvious the lost of that young man affected her quite deeply. I do not wish to see her experience that heartbreak yet again.” 

“Seeker, she’d be touched.” Varric said lightly. “Less enthusiastic about you shoving me back into a room, again, but touched by your concern.” 

“I refuse to let you leave without a serious answer.” Cassandra said, crossing her arms over her chest. “I insist that you tell me. If your intentions are not honorable, she deserves better.” 

Varric swore, turning back from Cassandra and reaching for the pitcher of water, pouring a glass and swallowing it. “You wouldn’t believe me anyway.” Varric said bitterly. 

“Perhaps. Or perhaps I have been wrong as well.” Cassandra shifted. “After meeting Hawke...seeing her fear in the fade, I find I understand your decisions a bit better even if I do not agree.” 

There was an uncomfortable silence as Varric thought, before he turned back to Cassandra. He met her dark eyes with his own and shrugged, opening his palms. “She’s beautiful, I can’t deny that I’m not going to honor her maidenly virtue if she’s on board. So if that’s dishonorable, then yes, so am I. But, I’d follow her to the ends of Thedas, back into the fade itself if she wanted me to and I fucking hated that little trip, Seeker.” 

“You do care.” Cassandra relaxed slightly, nodding her head. “That is...good to know. If you pursue this, if she pursues this… she should be happy. Maker knows where we will be at the end of this or what lies before us.” 

“Thank you for the advice, may I leave now?” Varric asked, raising an eyebrow. Cassandra blushed, moving aside. As Varric pushed open the door, he saw Dorian coming up the steps, smirking mischievously. 

“Ah, Varric, and the Seeker! It would be scandalous, if we didn’t know what we know about our resident poet.” Dorian wiggled his eyebrows and Cassandra sighed in resignation. 

“What do you want, Dorian?” She asked.

“Did Maria find you?” Dorian asked. “She had a question about some Nevarran custom or another.” 

“She did not, I will find her.” Cassandra said, turning back to the steps and making her way up to the next level where the women had taken rooms. Dorian snickered, brushing Varric’s shoulder in encouragement. 

“Well, you’re still alive. A good sign.” Dorian remarked. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I must find Bull.” 

 

The food was much better than anything they could cook up on the road and Varric found himself buoyant despite the distinct absence of a certain red headed dwarf. He even managed to start a card game and win enough to cover his tab from Bull and Dorian, who had kept playing even after he excused himself. Red flags didn’t go up until he reached for the handle to his room and found it yielding to him too easily, despite the fact that it had been locked. He glared at it suspiciously, wondering what Sera had been messing with, before pushing it open. 

The lamp was lit on his bedside table and Maria was perched on the edge of his bed. Her hair was loose, waves falling onto her shoulders. She was wearing a clean crisp white tunic and dark pants, her tall boots laced up to her knees. The silk ribbon he’d used to tie the last poem was laced between her fingers as she glanced up, gray eyes disarmingly vulnerable. 

“Thank the Maker, I thought Sera got in here.” Varric said, easing the door shut behind him. “You’re a much better surprise.” 

“I don’t know.” Maria smiled. “Sera leaves me quite excellent surprises. Baked goods, mostly.” 

“I’ve missed you.” Varric said simply. “You holding up okay?” 

“I’ve been avoiding you for a week and you’re asking how I’m holding up?” Maria said, shaking her head. “You’re unbelievable.” 

“In the best way, I hope.” Varric approached cautiously, sinking down on the bed beside Maria as she continued to lace the ribbon between her fingers. She sighed, shoulders hitching up. Varric reached out, lacing his fingers through hers. His thumb pressed on her pulse and he could feel it racing. “I shouldn’t have picked a fight over Blondie. I did lie to you and the Inquisition.” 

“It doesn’t matter. I should have told you as soon as I knew. I just… I didn’t want you to feel responsible.” Maria shrugged. 

“So when are you going to stop protecting people from themselves?” Varric asked, tracing her knuckles with his other thumb. 

“I don’t think I’m going to, honestly. I’m pretty sure that’s how I got this job.” Maria laughed softly at herself, her free hand tucking her hair behind her ear again. “We need to talk.” 

“You women do know that it’s terrifying when you say that, right?” Varric asked. Maria smirked a bit more, then dropped her eyes back to their hands before gently pulling away, standing. 

“You hardly know me, or anything about me really.” Maria began. “Before I was inquisitor…” 

“Maria Cadash, one of the most respected names in the Carta. Your parents died in a mining accident when you were a girl…” Varric began. Maria held up her hand, stopping him.

“My parents were abandoned in a mining tunnel when I was a girl. A job went bad, as they do on occasion, and half their crew abandoned them in a collapsed tunnel. My parents suffocated to death down there waiting for help that never came.” Maria’s voice had turned harsh. “My grandmother killed the other half of the crew in revenge and took in her two favorite granddaughters. My father should have been her heir, you know. I hardly remember them and Beatrix was only a baby. Nanna spread the story about the accident after.” 

Varric winced, but Maria continued. “I actually had a pretty happy childhood, considering. When I was sixteen, I started taking jobs and I was good at it. Nanna was  _ thrilled. _ She named me her heir when I turned eighteen, youngest Cadash heir ever named. It may sound awful, but I’m still a bit proud of that.”

“That’s the bit I heard. That if you wanted something done, between Zarra and her granddaughter, it’d get done. I used to purchase from your little organization rather exclusively. We went through quite a bit of lyrium in Kirkwall.” Varric offered. 

“Kirkwall was such a good market.” Maria sighed. “You know, I saw you and the Champion once. Maker, must have been right after the Qunari rampaged through the city. I was trying to reestablish our supply lines and take stock of how bad our inventory had been damaged, but I took a break to stroll through Hightown. She was browsing through enchanted rings and all the shopkeepers were tripping over themselves to serve her. You and her elf were lingering behind her like guard dogs.” 

Varric laughed, shaking his head. “That was the first day we let her out of bed, and only because she threatened to abscond if we didn’t let her.” 

“I was impressed. She was joking and laughing and I’d seen those Qunari, I knew how damn big they were.” Maria shook her head in disbelief. “But that was after…” 

“After Hercinia.” Varric answered for her. “You don’t have to…” 

“I do.” Maria said firmly, fists clenching. “I met Fynn a year before that. Nanna had decided to branch out our weapons business and we needed suppliers. His family owned a blacksmithing operation in Markham. They weren’t smiths, they were merchants who had bought out the shop, but Fynn had a knack for it himself. I didn’t realize he was the oldest son of the owner for two weeks while I was sitting there evaluating their work and dithering on prices. He made me my daggers. Beatrix has the other one now, but they were a matching set.”

Varric followed Maria’s hand as it dropped to her waist, where the dagger usually hung. It was too easy for Varric to see the scene, the young Carta heiress flirting shamelessly with the blacksmith over his forge. Varric swallowed his own sadness. “I’m sure his family had a better match lined up for him with someone else.” 

“They were certainly trying, but Fynn was stubborn. I don’t know if he’d have ever took one of the girls they pushed on him, honestly. He was also infuriatingly honest to a fault. He detested dealing with the Carta. We hated each other at first, but then… well, we were young and he was quite good looking.” Maria shrugged. 

“I certainly can’t fault him for his exquisite taste in women.” Varric said lightly. Maria frowned, turning and beginning to pace the room. 

“I was the worst mistake he ever made. He could have stayed and gotten fat and married some silly stupid merchant’s guild girl. He’d have been safe.” She argued. “Instead, he flaunted me in his father’s face. The Carta rat stealing his precious firstborn. The bastard couldn’t stand it. Finally, he tried to take out a contract on me.”

Varric groaned and Maria nodded. “Yeah, exactly. So we made a plan. I had my own gold, lots of it honestly. We thought it’d be enough to get away and start over. He asked me to leave the Carta and we’d set up a smithing shop of our own and find something legal for me to do instead. I said yes, of course I said yes. I was crazy about him by then and he spent so much time talking about how I could use my talents for so many more important things.” 

“But things went wrong?” Varric asked. Maria sighed. 

“Wrong is an understatement. We’d heard about the blight in Ferelden, so we made plans to head to Antiva. But, I wanted to let Beatrix know, Maker’s ass I wanted Beatrix to come with us. She was only sixteen and my baby sister.” Maria sighed. “So I went back to Ostwick and told her. We fought because she thought I was crazy to throw everything away for Fynn, but she promised not to tell Nanna. I left her one of my daggers and went to meet Fynn in Hercinia to take ship to Antiva. We were supposed to leave two days before they burned the docks.” 

“You didn’t make it.” Varric observed. “Beatrix told your grandmother?” 

“No.” Maria scoffed. “One of Nanna’s rivals took the contract on me. Luckily, instead of killing me, they decided to ransom me back to the Cadash family. I was halfway to Hercinia when I was ambushed by a dozen armed Carta members and shoved into a cage. When Nanna found out, she was furious. She sent half of our muscle and Beatrix to get me back, even if she didn’t quite understand why I’d been taken in the first place.” 

“But they got you out?” Varric asked. Maria stopped her pacing, collapsing on the bed beside Varric again. 

“Beatrix begged me to go back to Ostwick, but I was determined to make it to Hercinia. We ditched Nanna’s people and slipped out, she said she’d see me there so I didn’t get kidnapped again, but when we got there… we were too late. Fynn… he’d have been waiting two days with no idea where I was. He probably thought I’d abandoned him. I tried to save him, we climbed over the walls and…” 

“I saw that, in the fade. Beatrix said she wouldn’t follow you.” Varric said. Maria covered her face with her hands and nodded. 

“She said that, yes, but after ten minutes of waiting for me to come to my senses, she chased me down. I’d passed out from the smoke. She dragged me back to the wall, tied me to the rope we used, and dragged me back up the wall all by herself. She could have died. I never found him, Fynn. He died waiting for me.” Maria took her hands from her face, twisting her fingers together in her lap instead and refusing to meet Varric’s eyes. “He burned alive, with all the rest of those people, because he was waiting for me.” 

“He burned alive because his father took out a contract on your life.” Varric protested, grabbing her hands. “Maria, that wasn’t your fault.” 

“He killed himself, Fynn’s father. I was glad.” Maria said spitefully. “I was so glad he was gone. He didn’t deserve to still be alive when Fynn was dead.”

Varric closed his eyes and he could see the girl he’d seen in the fade, wearing the clothes she’d planned on eloping in, bruised and scraped and terrified. “Now, I can’t ever get away from it. I have nightmares, have had them since this damn thing started. Then right after the fade, it wasn’t Fynn in the flames. It was you.” 

“I’m right here, Princess.” Varric said softly. Tears ran down her cheeks, catching in her eyelashes. 

“I heard what you said to Cassandra, I was outside the door. I’ve read all your poems a hundred times. But you don’t understand, in the fade you saw what happens when I fail. You have to know how dangerous it is to… to want…” Maria’s hand was shaking and Varric cursed, pulling her to him and whispering into her ear. 

“I once waited at the docks for a girl when I was twenty, but she never came.” He said softly. “I waited two weeks until I got the letter that said she’d married someone else. I would rather have died knowing she was on her way.” 

“Varric…” Maria began but he pressed his finger to her lips. 

“He knew you were coming, Maria. Nobody who knows you could doubt you for a moment. And having that would be worth the threat of death. Besides, I’m used to my friends being as dangerous as my enemies. I’m a grown man, don’t worry about me.” Varric said, his thumb moving across her soft lips. They popped open almost immediately and he groaned, hunger flooding him as he took her face in his hands, pressing his mouth desperately against hers. The ribbon slipped from her fingers and she clutched at his shirt. 

“Please don’t die.” Maria whispered. 

“I promise.” Varric answered, pulling back. “Maria…” 

“Can I stay?” She whispered. “Just to sleep, for now.” 

She was straining his self control, but Varric reminded himself he wasn’t an untrained youth. He moved chivalrously away, waving his hand to the room. “My ridiculously overpriced room is your ridiculously overpriced room.” 

She laughed as he sat and tugged down the blankets, slipping off her boots and sliding beneath the covers. Varric removed his own boots and his shirt and listened, rather proudly, to her sharp intake of breath. He looked over his shoulder with a smirk at her form curled up in bed. 

“Like what you see?” He asked with a slow grin. “Remember, you’re just here to sleep.” 

“Maker, that crossbow must weigh a ton. Look at you.” Maria shook her head, reaching out one hand to brush lightly over his shoulders and down his upper arm. She made a small noise almost like a purr that caused his cock to swell before withdrawing sheepishly. 

“Goodnight.” She said softly. Varric, grumbling, extinguished the lantern and rolled onto his side, pulling her a bit closer although keeping his hips angled away. He dropped a kiss on her forehead and felt her smile against his chest. 


	32. Weisshaupt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke and Fenris travel to Weisshaupt. Fenris is reminded of the last time they walked into a trap.

It took two weeks to get to Weisshaupt. After leaving the Western Approach, Fenris found himself slugging through the foulest bog he’d ever had the misfortune to encounter, so foul in fact that they walked more often than risk riding the mounts the Inquisitor had provided. Hawke had squinted at her map and called it the Nahashin Marshes when they arrived. Three days in, Fenris had several other names for it, none pleasant. The only decent thing was the night, when it got too dark and they stopped to pitch their lone tent. Hawke would sing Ferelden lullabies while scratching Lucia’s ears and they watched swarms of bugs that glowed like pinpricks of sunlight or faraway stars close enough to touch. Then they’d make love with the tiny lights flickering around their tent before falling asleep in each other’s arms. 

Exiting the swamp, they found themselves stumbling into Ghislain. Much to Hawke’s delight, scrawny little Orlesian children lined the main road to down and stumbled upright when they entered the city gates with sly smiles and greedy hands. Hawke explained it was Orlesian tradition for children to beg for “petit alms” from passing travelers. He opened their purse, bemused, as coppers and silvers dripped from Hawke’s elegant fingers into the children’s palms. 

A letter of introduction from Enchanter Vivienne saw them put up in an elegant white and gold mansion, where they promptly scandalized the hostess by announcing their marriage and insisting on being roomed together. Hawke did deign to wear the provided finery, creamy layers of silk so dark blue it was almost black, to dinner. Fenris most certainly did not wear his matching ensemble, but delighted in Hawke’s skin glowing like pearls in the candlelight all evening until they snuck back to their provided room and he took her in front of the ridiculously ornate mirror on the wall. 

Their hosts couldn’t hide the relief when they left the next day, Hawke continuing to hum under her breath and snack on candied fruits astride her horse. There was another smaller town before they left Orlain, then several villages right on the Nevarran border. Finally, the choice lay before them rather to continue along the border with Tevinter or head west into Anderfels, then continue north to Weisshaupt. Hawke had shrugged fearlessly when the choice appeared, but Fenris was not so eager to put themselves at risk needlessly. So they turned from the road, embarking into an increasingly blighted and wasted landscape. 

The people they did see lived in small, harsh little farms where little more than sparse barley seemed to grow. Fenris was honestly surprised the soil yielded even that little bit. Children looked at them, hollow eyed and surly. When Hawke attempted to tempt a small gaggle with bits of brightly colored candy, they scattered like leaves. 

“This land has been through much, Reyna.” Fenris counseled after her third attempt to engage with the locals had been met with an old woman shouting something most definitely not polite in a language neither of them understood. “They are naturally suspicious.” 

“So I gather.” She snipped, patting Lucia before remounting smoothly. “Maker, it can’t be much farther, can it?” 

Unfortunately, it was several more days before they approached a giant white figure of Andraste carved into the rockface and a fortress set some distance away. The thought of finally being able to rest drove them forward much faster, nearly galloping through the small village at the base of the fortress and back up the mountain, finally slowing at they approached a great chasm. Fenris and Hawke both slowed as their horses approached the drawbridge spanning the gigantic crack. There was a sentry waiting who saluted with his hand to his chest as they approached and said something in that rough tongue of the country. 

Hawke dismounted with a charming smile and Fenris followed her lead. “I’m sorry, we’re strangers in the land.” Hawke said slowly and clearly. “Do you speak the common tongue?” 

“Yes, my lady.” The sentry said, his steely eyes taking in their mounts, the mabari at Fenris’s heels, the sword strapped to Fenris’s back and finally lingering on the staff tied to Hawke’s saddle. “What is your business?”

Hawke launched into a rather rambling but coherent account of how they had come to embark on their journey. The sentry relaxed as she spoke animatedly and Fenris allowed his attention to wonder up the stone face of the fortress, taking in the few lone figures on the battlements. A bird fluttered from one of the windows, landing on the rope spanning the drawbridge elegantly and cocking its head at them with an expression that was eerily human, ruffling it’s black feathers. It let out a soft caw that traveled easily over the chasm, causing the sentry to look up in annoyance. 

“Damn raven has been here all day and the day before. Shoo! Geh raus!” The man shouted. The bird cawed again almost as if it were arguing. 

“It’s a crow, not a raven.” Hawke corrected. “Smaller, and ravens don’t caw. They croak.” 

Fenris wasn’t quite sure about that, he thought. Crows typically traveled in great clouds of dozens of birds, not alone. But before he could contribute, the sentry was waving him down the bridge to the next man and Hawke was leading her horse gingerly across the broad expanse. As they passed under the bird, it cawed again and both Hawke and Fenris looked up. The bird’s dark eyes followed them as they passed, and when Fenris looked over his shoulder he saw it studying him. 

“Bird makes me damn nervous.” The man on the other side of the bridge said. He didn’t have the rough accent of the first, but rather sounded like he was from Nevarra. “My grandfather was mortalitassi and used to say crows guided souls to the Maker.” 

Hawke gave this man a rather more succinct version of their tale and the man escorted them into the keep, directing their mounts to the care of a young lad with brisk instructions. “We stopped the other wardens before they could reach Weisshaupt, the Commander wanted assurances we weren’t allowing abominations in. Once they pass muster, we’ll bring them here. Rather high handed of your Inquisitor to banish an entire order on a whim.” The man said jovially.

“I don’t believe it was a whim.” Fenris remarked. “It was more likely the blood magic.” 

Hawke’s lips twitched before she could school her features and the man scowled. “The Grey Wardens are all that stand before the world and a blight. We take the risks no one else can.” 

“A discussion I’d love to have with your commander.” Hawke said sweetly. The man abandoned them in a great hall that was much too dark. Hawke immediately began to nose around the tables while Fenris examined the wood paneling and the banners hanging above them. It was deathly quiet, and when Fenris ran his fingers against the wall, his fingertips were smeared with a sticky grey dust. 

The fortress was still as an ancient tomb and the light coming in through the narrow slits in the walls seemed too little and too watery to combat the darkness. There was a smell of sulfur and something rotten that made Fenris scrunch his nose, and when he called Hawke’s name and she turned he knew with a sick feeling in his stomach that she felt it too. He could see his anxiety reflected back in her blue orbs and the wry twist of her smile.

“Yes, something is off here.” She answered his unspoken question, lifting her nose like Lucia when she scented the air. “There’s a remnant of magic here, but not recent. It feels old and… primal.” 

“Comforting.” Fenris commented. 

Another, larger man entered the room. His eyes were narrowed on Hawke in something like distaste. “Lady Amell.” The man growled. 

“Hawke.” Fenris corrected before Hawke could do so, moving to her side.

“There’s been no Lady Amell for quite some time.” Hawke answered, narrowing her own eyes. “There is a Warden Commander Amell.” 

“Last I heard, Warden Amell abandoned her post.” The man answered gruffly. “Although Grey Warden business is none of your concern.” 

“Are you the First Warden?” Hawke asked, shifting her weight into a stance Fenris recognized well. Deceptively casual, but that would allow her to swing her staff around her back and lash out within seconds. 

“I am the High Constable of the Wardens. You may address me as Constable Lange.” The man said icily. “The First Warden is on business.” 

“Well, you may call me Champion Hawke, and this is my husband, Ser Fenris Hawke.” She introduced. “We are here to request an audience with the First Warden on behalf of the Inquisiton. We have a personal report of happenings in Orlais from the Inquisitor herself.” 

“A heretic.” The constable said, waving his hand. “Grey Wardens have no time for this nonsense and we are not bound to any authority. She had no right to banish the Grey Wardens.” 

“The wardens were under the influence of a powerful darkspawn and using blood magic to bind themselves to demons. I believe there were quite a few good reasons to intervene.” Hawke said dryly. 

“Constable Lange!” Another dry, reedy voice called out. “Have you offered to make our guests comfortable? They have come quite far.” 

A man drifted from the opposite side of the room through an archway. He was perhaps the oldest Grey Warden Fenris had ever seen. His hands were knotted and pale with dark brown spots going up them and his hair was gray and sparse. His eyes, however, were a piercing dark blue and when he grinned his teeth were sharp. “Allow me to introduce myself, Champion. I am the Chamberlain of the Grey. A paper pusher, merely, but we leave the fighting to the young ones. You may call me Chamberlain Bohm, or Martin if you prefer.” 

The man’s eyes lingered on Hawke, tracing a path down her pale skin in a way that frankly made the hair on the back of Fenris’s neck stand on end. Then the man’s eyes swept to him with a covetous gaze on the lyrium lining his flesh that Fenris knew entirely too well. “Constable Lange is distraught over the wardens of Orlais, we all are. The First Warden will be back within a few days with the remnants of the Orlesian wardens. Until then, let me show you to your rooms.” 

A part of Fenris wanted to toss Hawke right over his shoulder and storm out of this castle. Instead, the two of them shared a look and Fenris whistled for Lucia to follow as the man seemed to float ahead of them into dark, twisted corridors while the Constable glared after them. The smell seemed to waft up from underneath the castle and was worst around a door that had stairs appearing to disappear down. Mercifully, they headed up instead while the Chamberlain talked incessantly of the fortress, pausing at the archer’s windows to point out features of the fortress. There was a tense line to Hawke’s shoulders and jaws as she tried to inquire about the Grey Wardens at the fortress, the First Commander, the situation in Orlais. The man carefully sidestepped each inquiry with vague assurances and false pleasantries. By the time the man showed them to their room and invited them to dinner promptly at six, Fenris was glaring holes into Hawke’s head. 

The heavy door shut behind them and Hawke turned to survey the simple furniture and uncovered arrowslit that served as a window. Lucia sniffed experimentally at the thin blankets and woofed in displeasure. Fenris felt the same way, crossing his arms over his chest as Hawke threw her pack on the ground.

“Would you like to be reminded of the last time I felt so certain we had just walked into a trap?” Fenris asked. 

“Not particularly.” Hawke sighed. Fenris continued, undeterred. 

“That Orlesian wyvern hunting party where we ended up mixed up in an assassination attempt and the Qunari. I told you when we walked in there…” 

“You were just mad Tallis was flirting with me.” Hawke interrupted. 

“That you were going to get us all killed.” Fenris finished. 

“We survived, didn’t we?” Hawke replied brightly. Fenris sighed in frustration and swore in Tevene several times. Hawke sat on the provided storage chest and put her head in her palm, tapping her fingers against her chin. “So… guests or prisoners?” 

“Prisoners, I suspect.” Fenris answered. 

“I was afraid you’d say that.” Hawke said. “So, the question is, escape now or wait to find out what in the Maker’s name they’re up to.” 

“I strongly suspect we will be staying despite my vote.” Fenris growled, sitting on the bed. 

“As always, you’re free to leave.” Hawke replied tartly. The room was so small Fenris could reach for her from the bed and pull her to him until her weight was in his lap and he could bury his nose into the hollow of her throat and inhale her scent. 

“Freedom was interesting while it lasted.” He said with a small smile against her skin. “The places you take me, Reyna.” 

A soft caw broke the moment and both of them looked up, startled, at the bird on the ledge of the arrowslit. With a flurry of feathers it flew across the room and landed on the chest where Hawke had been sitting, head cocked and looking at him with almost human eyes. Lucia growled low in her throat, sinking into a crouch and looking at the bird. 

“Is that the same crow?” Hawke asked, shifting from Fenris’s lap and standing. The bird shook out it’s feathers again and then…

Fenris didn’t believe it at first, but the bird was growing larger, feathers shifting and then retreating into skin that was pale, face rearranging into a human’s with only the dark eyes remaining unchanged. Talons shifted into booted feet and the plumage became a black tunic with simple silver embroidery over white pants. Hair cascaded over sloped shoulders in two tight braids and a staff appeared over  the woman’s shoulder. Hawke swore an oath, taking a step back and Fenris pulled her behind him as they stared down Warden Chantal Amell-Arainai standing in the middle of a scattering of shed crow’s feathers. 

“What kind of magic is this?” Fenris demanded, but Chantal was spreading her arms peacefully looking at Hawke over his shoulder. 

“I’m going to learn it.” Hawke responded, determined.  

“Sweet Andraste.” Chantal said with a weak smile. On second look, Fenris noted she looked exhausted and there were thin lines at the corner of her eyes. “I’m so glad to see you.” 

With a cheerful noise, Hawke shoved past Fenris with her arms opened as well and the two women fell into each other’s arms. Chantal closed her eyes and swallowed, hard, but couldn’t stop the single tear falling down her cheek onto Hawke’s shoulder. Hawke felt it and pulled back, rubbing her palm gently over Chantal’s cheek. 

“Maker, what happened to you? You vanished without a trace! I was worried!” Hawke accused.

“I’m afraid the details will have to wait, cousin.” Chantal said softly. “I’m in a bit of trouble. I should never have come here.” 

With that, Hawke wrapped  an arm companionably around Chantal’s slim shoulders and sat her on the bed, kneeling in front of her. “Tell me what’s wrong. I’ll help.” 

 

The picture Chantal painted was not pleasant. Chantal was on a personal quest to cure herself and the King of Ferelden of the Darkspawn taint. The thought of such a thing being possible was shattering, the lives it would save immeasurable. They’d started their search in Ferelden deep in the wilds, but had traveled across most of Orlais and eventually into Tevinter itself. While in Tevinter, Chantal had received a lead that clues to her search had been in Weisshaupt’s archives. As a Grey Warden herself, Chantal had thought obtaining admittance would be easy. 

In fact, her companions and herself had been welcomed to Weisshaupt rather warmly initially. They’d been invited to a private supper with the Constable, The First Warden, and Chamberlain. Then, and this is where Chantal’s clear voice faltered, her magic had vanished. The food and drink she’d eaten laced with magebane. Then, charges ranging from treachery to abandonment of her post had been laid before her and a sentence of execution pronounced without any others present. 

They’d been attacked then, overwhelmed with Grey Warden reinforcements, and Chantal had been mostly helpless. She was drained of mana and strength and reliant on her companions. Then Chantal stopped, covering her face with her hands and bursting into furious scalding tears.

“You escaped, but not everyone did.” Hawke said gently. 

“Shale and I… we made it out. Zevran and Oghren covered our escape, but didn’t make it themselves.” She admitted between tears. “I told Shale to go back, I ordered her, but…” 

“She didn’t.” Hawke finished with a sigh. “She saved you, instead.” 

“They are still alive.” Chantal grasped Hawke’s wrist tightly, looking up with eyes full of burning fury. “I know they are. I would know if Zevran was gone. It’s been three days, but they’re alive.” 

“I know.” Hawke soothed, brushing her fingers tenderly through Chantal’s hair. Fenris was a bit more uncertain. “We’ll find him. We’ll find them both.” 

“You do realize.” Fenris said. “That we are expected at a private dinner with the Chamberlain and Constable at six?” 

“But where it the First Warden?” Hawke asked. Chantal grinned viciously and victoriously. 

“Dead.” She said simply. “He tried to clap me in irons and Zevran objected. Strongly.” 

“Are all the Wardens involved?” Fenris asked. 

“No.” Chantal shook her head. “I don’t think so. There’s something strange going on here, but I don’t think all the Wardens are involved.” 

“We saw a door leading downwards, perhaps to dungeons? That’s where I’d keep prisoners.” Hawke thought, narrowing her eyes and staring at the arrowslit. 

“We passed it as well.” Chantal said. “But I’m nowhere as good at sneaking through a keep as Zevran. There are no windows there.” 

“But we’re guests.” Hawke said gamely. “Can you or your Shale cause a distraction before dinner?”

“Shale most certainly can. I’m coming with you.” Chantal jutted her chin out stubbornly in a gesture that was so similar to Hawke’s that Fenris rolled his eyes. 

“Come back when your distraction is ready.” Hawke directed with a gleam in her eyes. 

“It’s that Orlesian chateau all over again.” Fenris sighed. 

 

On the pretense of stretching their legs, Fenris and Hawke wandered the fortress with Lucia on their heels. Most of the Wardens they met as they walked were courteous enough, if bored looking. Some, however, kept their distance and glared at them. Fenris noted these were the ones who were older, likely in charge. Hawke continued to saunter, casually, until they were back in the corridor with the stairs leading downwards. Quicker than a flash of light, Hawke and Fenris were going down the steps. At the bottom, a strong wooden door stood barred before them. The smell was worse down here, and Fenris knew what it was now. Corpses and death. 

On her tiptoes, Hawke peered through the grating and shook her head. “I can’t see much.” She whispered. “Is that a rack?” 

Fenris looked through the grating and nodded, biting back an oath. “There is fresh blood on it.” 

“She would know if it was Zevran.” Hawke said softly. “I would know if it was you.” 

“Don’t be foolish.” Fenris chided as they backed away from the door. Hawke smiled tightly. 

“I would have said I  was foolish as well, but that was before you.” She answered. 

When they arrived back in their room, Chantal was waiting as still as a statue. She turned, the question of whether they had found Zevran written plainly all over her features without her having to say a thing. Hawke shook her head and Chantal deflated. “Down the stairs, there is definitely a dungeon. Stocked with what I’m sure are all the torture classics.” Hawke said, then hesitated for a moment. “They may be in bad shape, Chantal.” 

A cloud passed over the woman’s face, turning it dark and thunderous. “If they are, someone will pay for it.” 

“Your distraction, how will we know when it begins?” Fenris asked.

“You won’t miss it, don’t worry. Shale isn’t known for subtlety.” Chantal said levely. “It won’t be long now.” 

Hawke picked up her staff and straightened her armor, the Champion’s armor that Meredith had delivered to the estate after the Arishok. Fenris put his own gauntlets on and readied his blade. Seconds stretched into minutes, then there was a rumble of something quite large hitting stone heavily enough to cause a small tremor. Then another. 

“That’s Shale.” Chantal said, standing from the bed. “We must hurry. She won’t be able to hold them off forever.” 

“A moment.” Hawke said, putting her ear to the door then cracking it open. Far away, Fenris could hear the distant running of footsteps going in the opposite direction, toward the front gate. Hawke slipped out and Fenris followed with Chantal on his right and Lucia on his left. They made their way down the hallway, down the first set of steps. Where it emptied into another hallway, Hawke and Fenris both pressed back to hide Chantal as three Wardens dashed down the hallway and into another stairwell. A horn was blowing from the entrance, summoning. 

Hawke swore and lashed out with ice, freezing the three Wardens and rushing past them. Fenris followed with Chantal on his heels. Another Grey Warden, young, was knocked unconscious by Hawke’s staff. Then an older man barreled into the hallway, eyes wild when he caught sight of Chantal. 

“Traitor!” The man shouted. “Traitorous whore, a stain upon the Grey!” 

Chantal moved so quickly it was as if her entire shape blurred. Then she was wrenching the man’s sword arm back and lighting was dancing on the tips of her fingers. “Where is my husband?” She demanded. 

“Singing for Kraus.” The man spat. “Like a good little crow. You’ll join him soon enough.” 

“Not very likely.” Chantal replied evenly, shoving her staff blade through the man’s boot and reaching for his face with lighting that arched down his body, setting his hair smoking before he fell. Fenris couldn’t help but admire the sheer technical proficiency as she ripped the blade from the man’s boot and left him crumpled. Hawke whistled low as Chantal pushed past them, taking the lead. 

“Let’s try not to piss her off.” Hawke whispered. 

Fenris privately agreed, but instead gestured Hawke forward as Chantal rushed through the mostly empty hallways, Hawke’s ice freezing lone Wardens here or there. Then they were rushing down the dungeon steps and at the barred door. 

“Can either of you pick a lock?” Chantal asked. Hawke scoffed, reaching around her and touching her fingers to the lock. White hot flames coated them, melting the metal, charring the wood around it. Then Hawke shoved and the door opened on the narrow room with the rack they’d seen. Then there was a booming laugh from their right. 

“Warden! Knew you’d come and bring the soddin’ calvary!” Fenris turned and observed the dwarf laying in a cage, one eye just about swollen shut and grin almost obscured by a matted red beard. Then the dwarf looked between Hawke and Chantal rapidly. “Wait, I need a drink. There ain’t two of ya, right?” 

“My cousin, Hawke.” Chantal said, making her way to the cage. “Glad to see you, Oghren.” 

“Knew ya would miss me.” The dwarf said smugly. “Keys are over there.” 

Fenris followed the dwarf’s gesture and scooped up the key ring, eyes running apprehensively over several bloody strips of leather. Chantal was already asking where Zevran was and Oghren’s face softened just a bit. 

“Ah...he’s still alive, quit your moonin’. Right before they all ran out, I heard them talkin’ about how to wake the damned elf up.” Oghren mouth moved it what may have been a comforting smile. 

“Where?” Chantal asked as Fenris slipped the key into the lock and turned it, letting the door swing open. Oghren shuffled out, stretching, then jerked his head toward the back of the dungeon.

“Round the corner, Warden.” Oghren said and Chantal was off. Hawke lingered beside the dwarf. 

“I can...help with that. I’m a healer.” She said, choking on the stench that surrounded the dwarf. Oghren shook his head, smile dropping and mouth thinning. 

“Save yourself, woman. The elf will need it more.” Oghren said, grunting. “Besides, how else will I impress you with my manly prowess if I don’t fight through my wounds?” 

Hawke coughed to hide her smile and Fenris made a noise in his throat as Oghren sauntered off. Then a choked off cry of alarm sounded and Hawke sprinted forward. Fenris rushed after her, turning the corner and staring in horror at the sight before them.  

Chantal’s hands  where shaking as she tried to unknot a rope hanging from the ceiling, before she eventually just gave up and burned through it, allowing the figure that had been hanging to collapse silently and bonelessly into her. She collapsed, slowly and gently under his weight to the hard stones. 

 

Zevran was still wearing his boots and pants, but was bare from the waist up. Every inch of that bare skin, however, had been beaten. Some of the lash marks were sticky with old blood, scabbed over. Bruises formed over his ribs. The man’s arms had been wrenched up above his head and tied together, leaving his swollen face exposed. What was even worse were the sharp poles that were still impaled in the sides of his abdomen with blood slowly trickling down. The man’s chest rose and fell still, just barely, and there was an odd rattle in the inhale. Chantal brushed his blonde hair, matted with blood, from his face gently and looked up at Hawke. 

“Please.” She whispered, but Hawke was already kneeling down, blue light surrounding her hands. 

“Better to pull these out while he’s unconscious. Hold him steady, cousin.” Hawke ordered. Chantal nodded, determined, and tightened her grip on Zevran as Hawke quickly pulled the steel poles and dropped them behind her. “Fenris, can you get my lyrium ready?” 

His fingers already clutched one of the glowing blue bottles because he knew, this was damage that would need more than Hawke’s mana to repair. He felt her dip into her mana and begin, starting with the worst of the damage, the bleeding wounds and what he assumed were broken ribs and a puncture in the lung.

Zevran coughed, flinching and trying to roll into himself. “Mi amor.” Chantal said softly, her hands smoothing his hair back again. “It is only me, mi amor. Siempre te amare, Zevran” She whispered. Zevran’s eyes flickered open and a ghost of a smile danced on his lips. 

“Ah.” Zevran said. “Mi amor, what lovely eyes you have.” 

“See, the elf’s fine, Warden.” Oghren said. Chantal shook her head, silently brushing a tear from her eyes. Zevran made a noise of protest and attempted to sit up, only for Hawke and Chantal to hold him down. 

“Stop it.” Hawke ordered. “I’m still working, unless you want these ribs crooked.” 

“Why?” Chantal asked. “Why did they do this?” 

Zevran’s expression darkened, but it was Oghren that answered. “They wanted him to talk.” The dwarf said simply. “And for a man who won’t shut up, he was awfully silent.” 

“Third rate torture at best, mi amor.” Zevran assured. “Barely tickled.” 

Lucia began to growl, turning and looking back at the entrance. Hawke stopped and looked up. 

“How much time do you need to get him up?” Fenris asked, tossing her the blue bottle of lyrium. 

“At least fifteen minutes to get him decent.” She answered. “Fenris, it won’t do any good if you get hurt too.” 

“Ah, I’ve been waitin’ to get those backstabbing bastards.” Oghren grunted. “Come on, pretty boy. Let’s see if you can swing that big sword.” 


	33. Unexpected Guests

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The group gets distracted on their way to Skyhold. Maria receives a surprise guest, as does Varric.

Of course, they didn’t  make it back to Skyhold in a timely fashion. A pair of rather urgent missives from Josephine and Leliana sent them to the Exalted Plains to meet up with a rather strained unit of Inquisition soldiers who were dealing with two Orlesian armies. Then, of course, somebody had added undead. “As if the Orlesians weren’t enough.” Varric had grumbled as Maria took the unit commander’s report. Maria actually had to stop the woman mid-report because she’d started laughing and everyone had at least cracked a smile, even Blackwall who spent most of the time brooding and the rest glaring holes in between Varric’s shoulder blades. 

As they were clearing out the last barracks, Varric paused to reload and playfully glared at Maria. “You never take me anywhere nice.” 

“That’s not true!” Maria protested, with a grin. “The spider infested caves on the Storm Coast had a certain charm.” 

“I didn’t like them. They were very hungry.” Cole said. “Sera’s singing a song but only I can hear it.” 

“Shite! Go away!” Sera yelled as she jumped backwards. 

“She likes to dance, but can’t. She hates to sing, but can. You shouldn’t let Sera paint. It would be very bad if you did.” Cole said, sinking his blade into the collapsing form of a corpse. 

“What are you singing, Sera?” Maria asked, twisting quickly to the side to dodge an arrow before launching two of her own. “Is it a dirty song? I love those.” 

“The sister a poor example, she saves fallen women from sin. She’ll save you a wench for five coppers. Maker, the money rolls in.” Cole repeated, tipping his head to the side. Varric chuckled and Cassandra made a noise of immense disgust, but Maria only hummed a few bars herself.

“Now my grandma makes cheap prophylactics, she punctures the head with a pin. While mother gets rich selling second hand gin to new mothers, Maker the money rolls in…” Maria finished, horribly off key, with a mischievous glance at Cassandra under her long eyelashes. 

“Inquisitor! It is not appropriate…” Cassandra sputtered. Sera cackled as she raced past with a flask of something that was sparking flames. 

“I know I can’t sing, Cassandra, but I thought you’d appreciate the effort!” Maria said, all wide feigned innocent eyes and a lip that trembled suspiciously with either false tears or suppressed laughter. 

“That’s right about enough of that noise! Like a howling cat!” Sera shouted. 

Maria gave a faux bow from her perch on the ramparts. “If I didn’t have some flaws, Sera, I wouldn’t be able to carry my ego around.” She shot a wink at Varric then ducked out of view towards the sound of Bull’s shouting. 

“Wishing, wondering. Bubbles on her tongue like champagne. Stone shapes words that sing and she sings along, but she liked the blue flowers better than the pink ones.” Cole shrugged apologetically. 

“I believe, my dear dwarf, spirit assisted courtship is cheating.” Dorian scowled at a dismembered arm hanging from a flag post, still burning from the tornado of flames he’d summoned. “Shouldn’t you be agonizing about whether she likes the flowers? Does her heart skip a beat when your eyes meet, or only yours? You know, that nonsense.”

“I’m helping!” Cole protested.

“You’re doing quite nicely, kid.” Varric said with a smirk. “Blue flowers it is.”    
“Dorian!” Bull yelled, appearing on the upper ramparts above him. “Boss has got a pit of dead bodies reeking of blood magic and told me to tell you to hike up your skirt and get up here.” 

“I’m not wearing a skirt and Maria did not say that.” Dorian snipped. 

“You trip on that bustling whatever, don’t come crying to me!” Bull shouted back. 

 

The days stretched on as they rid the countryside of the remaining undead and the Free Men who’d caused it, sealing rifts and helping the Dalish roaming the plains. He found his thoughts lingering on Merrill, then Carver, and then Hawke and Fenris in short order. It was a relief when Vivienne received a letter from Ghislain stating they’d been there and utterly scandalized all assembled Orlesian nobility before moving on. Someday, he thought, they’d stop trying to squeeze Hawke into a shape she didn’t fit into. 

Before they left, Solas received an impassioned call for help from… something. A friend, he called it. Vivienne said it was a demon and Dorian said spirit, but Maria simply shrugged and said she’d help, because of course she would. So, off he went with Maria, Solas, and Blackwall. Unfortunately, they were far too late. Varric couldn’t say he understood any of this shit, but he knew grief and fury, they all did. So no one stopped Solas from killing the blood mages, and when he stormed off Maria simply sighed, shaking her head and declaring they’d go back to camp and wait for him to calm down and return. Two days passed while they finished tracking the rifts across the plains, and on the second night Maria began to worry. 

“I can go.” Cole offered out of the quiet. “Anger, he was so angry. Roads aren’t safe for an elf on his own. I can look, I can hear him.” 

Maria looked up from where she stared at the fire, rubbing absently at her palm. “I’ll go with you.” She said as she stood.

“You shouldn’t.” Cole said. “Fingers cramp, stabbing, knife through the palm. Maybe fire. Pain pounding, pulsing. You should not have sealed so many rifts.” 

“Is it that bad?” Varric asked, but Dorian was already grasping Maria’s wrist, pulling her glove free. Even Varric could see the angry red color around the glowing green mark. Dorian swore, shaking his head. 

“Solas should see this. Damn him for going off when he did.” Dorian said. “The veil is warped around the marking and I can feel it snapping back and forth. How long has it been like this?” 

“It’s fine, Dorian.” Maria said, trying to pull back. 

“It is not, kaffas!” Dorian swore. “What will you do if it gets bigger than it is now? You know it could, it happened in the fade.” 

“The mark makes you more. The stone, still there, but magic pours through. Solas worries. Ir abelas, lethallan. Fearing failure, fearing magic eroding the stone.” Cole muttered. 

“Cheery.” Maria said. 

“I’ll go with the lad.” Blackwall offered. “We’ll be back by first light.”

Maria looked like she might argue, but Blackwall gripped Cole’s shoulder and hauled him up and into the night. Maria sighed and Dorian began digging through their supplies. “I’m putting this salve on, and you’re going to bed if I have to have Bull tie you up.” Dorian threatened. 

“Know a lot about that, do you?” Maria asked. Cassandra groaned, but when Varric turned to look at her he saw the worry clouding her face. 

He retreated to his own tent shortly after Dorian put Maria in hers, knowing what would happen next. He hung a lantern from the tent pole and waited. Within fifteen minutes, she had slipped in as silently as a shadow, grinning at him apologetically. 

“Sorry.” She whispered. “I didn’t mean to make you go to bed so early.” 

“Can I see?” Varric asked, holding his hand out. With a weary sigh, Maria stretched out her hand and placed it in his. Dorian had wrapped it with a clean bandage so only the faintest glow escaped, but he could feel the heat from it along with that tingle of magic. Varric shook his head in resignation. “You should have told us it’d gotten this bad.” 

“Rifts needed sealed, Varric. They need sealed whether it hurts or not.” Maria explained patiently. “Besides, who else would you all fuss over?” 

“You secretly love it.” Varric accused, pulling her waist closer and pressing his lips against her neck. “I can’t wait until we’re back at Skyhold in another real bed.” 

“Oh, is that all you can’t wait for?” Maria teased, straddling his lap with a throaty laugh. “Not to be away from prying ears?” 

“I’ve almost gotten used to your teasing.” Varric mumbled, but swore when she rolled her hips experimentally against him and he had to adjust to hide his straining erection as best he could. “Almost.” 

“Mmmhmm.” She huffed, winding her arms around his neck and tugging his hair lose so she could run her fingers through it, eyes tracing the strands that gleamed in the lantern light. Varric let his hands rest simply on the thin cotton covering her waist. 

“You need to rest.” Varric ordered. “If you’re too tired to stop everyone from bickering, we’ll never make it back to Skyhold.” 

“You’d carry on without me.” Maria said automatically, and that’s when Varric noticed the deep sorrow caught in the shadows of her face. “Someday, you all might have to anyway.” 

“Don’t talk like that.” Varric said, pulling her closer until he could hear the rhythm of her heartbeat, slow and steady in the small space, smell the spiced wine she’d been sipping around the fire on her lips. “Here, I’ve been working on the next Swords and Shields for Cassandra. I can’t believe you talked me into this.” 

“I didn’t have to try very hard.” Maria reminded with a small smile. “You should have seen her face when I caught her reading the last one in the stables at Val Royeaux. I swear, if you don’t finish it soon I’m going to just for the joy of seeing it again.” 

“I’m not sure this isn’t an elaborate prank Sera dreamed up.” Varric remarked. “But, hey, might as well.” 

“Read some to me?” Maria asked with her sweetest smile. Varric raised an eyebrow. 

“So you can laugh your fine dwarven ass off before I ever get a chance to see it?” He questioned. “I don’t think so, Princess.” 

 

When Cole and Blackwall returned the next morning with no trace of Solas, Maria simply sighed and took the messages from the scouts that had come in overnight. She put aside the first and second, then her brow creased as she looked at the third before she unrolled it. Varric watched with mounting concern as horror crept into her face before she stood, nearly knocking Sera over. 

“We need to go.” Maria rushed out. “Now, five minutes ago if it were possible. Solas will just have to fend for himself.” 

“Inquisitor?” Cassandra asked nervously. “What is it? Is it Corypheus?” 

“Worse.” Maria said, tossing the message into the flames. “My grandmother is at Skyhold.” 

 

They rushed back to Skyhold, but the day they were due to arrive found Maria uncharacteristically slowing down the whole caravan with unexpected stops to check on scouts, an unnecessary search for Cole, and extra breaks for the whole group. The last time, Dorian barely hid his laughter as Maria stood by her mount, nervously twisting the hem of her tunic. 

“Problem, Princess?” Varric asked smoothly. 

“Oh, no. I’m sure it’s fine.” Maria answered. “I only managed to take over a religious organization, almost get Bea and myself killed again, and then rather high-handedly took over a significant portion of Carta resources and put them to work for the Inquisition. Exactly what Nanna expected, I’m sure.” 

“And does she know about...us?” Varric asked, almost tripping over the last word. Maria’s eyes remained distantly focused on Skyhold and she either ignored the significance or took it for granted. Varric was frankly uncertain which he preferred. 

“Safe to say she’s had people spying. She’s certainly been reading the letters I’ve sent to Bea.” Maria said casually. “Although how much of our code my grandmother has figured out has always been a mystery.” 

“Well, best to get it over with then.” Varric said. “The author in me can’t stand the anticipation anymore.” 

Maria sighed and brushed back her long red hair before straightening. Varric saw the steel forming in her eyes as she nodded as imperiously as an empress. “You’re right. Let’s go.” 

The most annoying part of meeting Zarra Cadash had to be where exactly he was told he’d meet her at. Josephine appeared rather unrattled when she met them at the stables, ticking off the elder Cadash like it was just another item of business. 

“She hasn’t been too much, has she?” Maria asked. 

“Oh, no!” Josephine protested. “She is quite a fascinating lady. She even offered some rather accurate advice regarding the proclivities of one of the Marcher nobles that assisted with gaining an audience. She has made herself quite at home, of course, but then it is her granddaughter’s fortress. One would expect no less from any dowager.” 

“Did she take over my rooms?” Maria asked with a sigh. 

“No, Inquisitor. She rather said the stairs were far too much for her bones. She took a modest room off the courtyard, but she has taken over the space by the hearth for her… business purposes.” Josephine said diplomatically. Bull began laughing immediately, voice booming. 

“Oh, this I’ve gotta see.” The qunari grinned from ear to ear. 

Varric ignored the urge to protest strongly that she’d taken his space. “I’ve been meaning to spend more time in the tavern, anyway.” 

“Ah, she seems remarkably similar to my grandmother. Always managing to be just the right amount of irritating.” Dorian sighed.

Without another word, Maria made her way to the door leading to the kitchens and slipped inside. Varric followed wordlessly as well.

“You don’t have to come.” She offered. 

“That may be true, but I do need to get to my room. And I can’t see any way to do so except by going past her.” Varric offered gamely. 

“There’s a trellis in the courtyard.” Maria said immediately. “Up and over, through the window, and you end up in your room.”

“Inquisitor!” Varric faked shock. “You’ve been eying how to surreptitiously enter my room? My virtue won’t recover.” 

Maria laughed, despite the anxiety, kissing him just out of view of the kitchen before turning and making her way up the stairs. Varric appreciated the taste of her on his lips and her swaying hips for just one moment before following after her. 

Zarra Cadash was rather smaller than he expected. Her hair was white as snow, piled carefully on top of her head in braided spirals with rather tastefully gold embellishments looped in. She wore a long green dress and soft calfskin boots and had glasses perched on her nose. The woman’s wrinkled fingers twisted a gold pendant, but those gray eyes when they flashed up were as sharp as her granddaughter’s and the wry smirk was comfortingly familiar when she examined Maria. Then the woman looked at Varric and frowned, severely. 

Not good, he thought as Zarra pushed a piece of paper at the hooded dwarf beside her. The older woman stood easily, pushing the chair back and raising an eyebrow at her granddaughter. “Do you know what a trek up this mountain is like with my bones, girl? I should be at home, knitting and complaining about my grandchildren not writing enough.” 

“I have answered your letters, Nanna. You didn’t need to come.” Maria said cautiously. Zarra waved away the comment like an annoying fly. 

“And leave you to...whatever mess you’ve thrown yourself into this time, oh I don’t think so. Crazy chantry folk, a damned hole in the sky, an archdemon, and your  _ sister _ running your operations. The whole damned world is falling apart and... oh, I’ve missed you.” The woman suddenly beamed, her whole face lighting up at Maria’s growing skeptical demeanor. “You can’t blame an old woman for that, surely.” 

“I think Bea’s actually doing quite a lovely job.” Maria replied flippantly and Zarra laughed, reaching out to fondly pat Maria’s cheek.

“Yes, that’s exactly my point. The world upside down. Now…” Zarra turned to look at Varric as skeptical as Maria was. “Let’s talk about this. First off, where’s his beard.” 

“Nanna…” Maria sighed. 

“No, no, I’m all for foolish fashions. I didn’t say a damned word when Beatrix pierced her navel. But this… do all your shirts only have three buttons?” Zarra asked. 

Varric offered a courtly bow. “I’m Varric Tethras, and it’s a pleasure to meet you, lady Cadash.” 

“Lady!” Zarra scoffed. “Maker’s ass. Where did you find him? Can you not put him back?” Zarra scrunched up her nose. Maria raised her hand to her forehead and rubbed it. “Move along, boy. I have things to discuss with my granddaughter.” Zarra commanded, voice hard as steel. 

“Nanna, this is where Varric was working.” Maria began. Zarra snorted. 

“Working? Ah, yes, one of the soldiers said there was a beardless dwarf loafing around before I settled in. When he wasn’t chasing you or some other dwarven skirt, of course.” Zarra had perfected the faux innocent tone Maria used to her advantage so well. On closer examination, Varric could see far more similarities than differences. Both had the kind of posture born for leading, straight as steel. There was the matching eyes (softer somehow, in Maria’s face, but just as striking) and the elegant, clever fingers. 

“Nanna, stop it.” Maria commanded. “If you’re only here to complain, I suggest…” 

Zarra let out a long suffering sigh and something flashed in those grey eyes too briefly for Varric to capture it, but if he’d been able to guess he would have said it was sorrow, regret. Zarra held up one hand, palm out, to stop Maria and shook her head. 

“I am here because I am worried, child.” Zarra said. “That is all, and it is enough. They’re saying you fell into the fade itself, Maria. Strong, brave Maria. I should never have sent you to the Conclave.” 

“You didn’t know.” Maria said immediately, but Zarra simply shook her head sadly and opened her arms. Maria hesitated only a moment before stepping into them and allowing Zarra to fold them around her.

As soon as she’d encircled Maria, Zarra’s eyes snapped back to him over the Inquisitor’s shoulder. For the first time, Varric felt his stomach drop like a stone, because Zarra’s eyes were burning now with fury and locked onto his as she stroked Maria’s red hair gently. 

“Perhaps your friend should attend to his business in his room, for now? And we can talk, my girl.” Zarra’s tone didn’t change, despite the anger there, and when Maria pulled away the expression was hidden behind concern and mild annoyance. Maria turned over her shoulder and shrugged.

“Would you mind? Just for a moment.” Maria said.

“Of course not.” Varric said smoothly, hoping desperately that whatever business Zarra wanted him to attend to in his room wasn’t assassins. Thank the Maker he still had Bianca slung over his shoulder. “I’ll see you for supper?” 

“Of course you will.” Zarra said smoothly. “We’ll have much to discuss, won’t we?” And with that, the elderly woman’s arm was around Maria’s waist, twisting her skillfully to the table and directing her attention to something. Varric was left to make his exit as silently as he could, making his way up the stairs and into the hallway where he had his room. He paused, listening, but he certainly couldn’t hear any assassins waiting for him. 

Hawke would be distraught, he thought ruefully. Another woman steeped in forbidden attraction where assassinations were just part of the courtship. That is, if he survived this one. With sudden determination, he hefted Bianca and wrenched open the door to his bedroom, allowing the afternoon light to fall on his bed and the small figure there. 

“Maker.” The woman giggled, pushing her hood back and revealing her blonde hair and sparkling turquoise eyes. “I hope you haven’t started greeting all of your guests like that.” 

“Bianca?” Varric breathed and the woman smiled, sultry and perfect, just as he remembered. 

“That’s my name. Don’t wear it out.” She practically purred, patting the bed beside her. “Don’t just stand there like you’ve seen a ghost, come in and relax.” 

Shit, Varric thought. He’d have preferred the assassins. 


	34. Secrets & Surprises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Warden, Hawke, Fenris, Zevran, Oghren, and Shale flee Weisshaupt. What the wardens wanted to know is revealed. Chantal refuses to tell a secret. Fenris learns something unexpected.

 

_ Fenris staggered into the slick cave wall, sword clattering noisily to the ground beside him. The last giant spider rolled onto its back, engulfed in flame and legs twitching as Isabela approached him, daggers sheathed. “Little nick, sweet thing? Let ‘Bela kiss it better.”  _

_ “Venhedis, stay away…” Fenris said, but when he pushed away from the wall the whole damned cave spun and he felt the urge to spill his guts all over the floor. He staggered into Isabela and suddenly the playful spark in her eyes was gone and Varric was gripping his breastplate, lowering him to the floor.  _

_ “Hawke!” The dwarf yelled, and then she was there. There was a small gash on her cheek, just below those brilliant blue eyes, and she wasn’t smiling. Fenris noted that he wasn’t sure he’d ever seen her look so grim, even that first night he’d met when he’d berated her for being a mage.  _

_ “Where is it?” Hawke asked, blue eyes looking on his. When he didn’t answer she made an impatient noise in her throat. “You’re bleeding out somewhere, where?”  _

_ “Leg.” Fenris answered. That was all the direction Hawke needed as she knelt, eyes sweeping his skin until she found the deep gash and she hissed.  _

_ “Cut an artery. You’ll bleed out if we don’t fix it.” Hawke said matter-of-factly, but her voice was growing faint, ringing strangely. Her skin was beautiful in the faint torchlight, luminescent as pearls. Too beautiful for a mage, he thought desperately, too beautiful.  _

_ “How long do you need, Hawke?” Varric asked. With an elegant roll of her shoulders, Hawke answered.  _

_ “Ten, fifteen at most?” She said, opening her pouch and bringing out little bottles of potions, handing them to Isabela.  _

_ “I’ll scout our way out then, be right back.” Varric said cheerfully, vanishing from Fenris’s blurry vision.  _

_ “Hey, listen to me.” Hawke said, and Fenris could see her hands were clenched over her patched, tattered pants where he could see them. “You need healing.”  _

_ “No.” Fenris said immediately. “Do not touch me, mage.” he spat venomously.   _

_ “It’d be a shame to leave such a fine corpse.” Isabela commented. Hawke shushed her.  _

_ “Fenris, if I don’t do this, you’re going to bleed out down here. It’s your choice, healing or death.” Hawke said grimly. “I won’t force it on you.”  _

_ Damn her, Fenris thought groggily. Damn her to the void and back, asking this as if she had no idea of the pain it would bring. Damn her and every mage and her especially for bringing him down her to pay his debt. Her eyes were sharp on his face and so… so very blue. “I’d rather die than feel…” He began. Hawke’s face softened and she bit her lip, eyes roaming his markings so quickly he couldn’t even yell at her to cease her ogling.  _

_ “Magic hurts.” She said softly. “Of course. I’m sorry. Healing shouldn’t hurt, I’ll try not to make it hurt. Have you been healed before?”  _

_ If he had, he could not remember. He was almost certain he must have, he had sustained wounds he could not have survived without healing. However, it would have been while he was unconscious. He didn’t know how to tell her this, couldn’t bear to see any more pity in those glowing blue eyes. “I do not recall.” He said instead. Hawke sighed, shoulders slumping.  _

_ “Please.” She was...pleading, and there was something heavy in her tone. Something he had never heard before. “Don’t die when I can save you. Trust me, just this once.”  _

_ Fenris didn’t know what to do, but the world was going fuzzy, and this was Hawke who was strong and laughed in the face of danger sounding as if she would cry over him. He raised one gauntleted hand, pressing it against her chest weakly. “Do it, but one false move mage…” He growled.  _

_ And Hawke laughed, in relief, instructing Isabela to wait, then pour the potion down his throat on her signal to help rebuild his lost blood. Then something was pulsing, churning, a warmth spreading from his leg and up his abdomen like the bottles of Agregio he’d been drinking from Danarius’s cellar. At Hawke’s signal, Isabela poured the potion down his throat and Fenris coughed, sputtered, but the warmth was still growing. And the lyrium lines were starting to glow too, flickering in the dim cavern, casting quick bursts of light across Hawke’s face as she worked.  _

_ His gauntleted hand against her chest was beginning to feel a bit silly, and he made to drop it, but with a quirk of her lips, Hawke caught it and brought it back. His bare palm pressed against her heart, the steady thrum through her skin and into his like another source of warmth. She laughed. “May as well keep it there, in case I make a sudden effort to summon a demon or turn to blood magic.”  _

_ “Are you intending to do so?” Fenris’s head was clearing and yet at the same time...not. She was so close he could smell elfroot on her and something sweet, like what wafted from the bakeries in the morning. Her heart thrummed under his fingertips, too soft for the pointed fingers of his gauntlets pressing against her. Her magic was singing with his lyrium, humming almost pleasurably inside his skin. It was too much and yet it wasn’t even near to enough. For the first time, although it would be far from the last time, he imagined the noise she’d make if his gauntlets caught her hair and pulled her cherry red lips to his.  _

_ “No.” She admitted. “But if it makes you feel more comfortable knowing you could rip my heart out, by all means. I used to do finger puppets and silly voices when Bethany and Carver hurt themselves, so this is much better.”  _

_ When the glow dimmed… Fenris could honestly say he missed the warmth. He pushed himself up immediately, ignoring Hawke’s pleas to stay put and rest. He nearly pushed Varric over as he pushed past the dwarf, trying to conceal his growing alarm and distress. How could he hand himself over so easily, he thought as he exited the cave. With all he knew of what mages were capable of, how could he be so foolish?  _

_ But when she showed up at his mansion the next afternoon, dressed not for a job as she’d been every other time, but in a simple violet tunic and her torn, patched breeches (because this was before the softer things, when her cheeks were still too hollow from not enough food and she was still taking every job and every copper that came her way for an estate she did not want) Fenris allowed her in. And she sat perched on the edge of one of the cleaner chairs, pushing her long dark hair from her face as she asked if he was alright.  _

_ “I am in your debt. Again.” Fenris admitted ruefully. Hawke simply smiled, shaking her head.  _

_ “What are friends for if not patching you up after a fight with a giant spider?” Hawke asked, tilting her head to one side.  _

_ “Is that we are then, mage? Friends?” Fenris asked, uncertain, staring into a grate that was cold and empty (before Hawke had money to make sure he was constantly stocked on firewood and good things to eat.)  _

_ “My friends call me Hawke, you know.” She answered, ducking her head and refusing to meet his eyes, becoming very fixated on a frayed patch on her pants.  _

_ “I don’t understand why you are Hawke and Carver is Carver.” Fenris pondered. Hawke simply shrugged, standing and stretching so that the tunic exposed a sliver of creamy pale skin and something snapped hungrily inside Fenris. He stood as well, although he wasn’t sure why. A thought, half-formed and ludicrous, made him picture pushing her against the cold fireplace and tangling his naked fingers in her long locks.  _

_ “Because I’m older.” Hawke said simply. “I’m glad it didn’t hurt, the healing, and I’m glad you’re alright. Maybe you can come to the Hanged Man tonight and show everyone else you didn’t bleed out on the way home?”  _

_ “Perhaps.” Fenris said, but when she sighed and turned away, making for the door, something made him turn as well.  _

_ “Hawke.” He called and the name echoed in the empty hall and caused her to stop, turning incredulously to him. “I will join you tonight, if the invitation stands.”  _

_ Hawke beamed so brightly it was as if there was a fire in the grate and the sun had come out from behind the clouds, so brightly it almost took his breath away.  _

_ “Right, see you there.” Hawke said, jamming her hands into her pockets and strolling out, humming a bit under her breath. Fenris watched her go, both apprehensive and longing, wanting and wishing and disgusted at himself for it.  _

_ You can’t trust a mage, he reminded himself. A small, traitorous voice in the back of his mind answered like a fresh breeze.  _

_ Yes, but she is Hawke. _

“She’ll get him up?” Oghren asked, looking back over his shoulder nervously.  

“Hawke always does.” Fenris said confidently. “Can you fight?” He asked the dwarf. 

“Can I  _ fight _ ?” Oghren repeated, aghast. “Get me a sword and I’ll show you, you pointy-eared…” 

“Where is your sword?” Fenris asked impatiently. Oghren pointed at a chest near his open cage. 

“Elf’s been teachin’ me how to...” Oghren trailed off as Fenris’s hand glowed blue, punching through the lock, lyrium phasing through wood and metal before he ripped it back out, lock falling from his fingers as he opened the chest. The dwarf laughed joyously. “Oh yes, this will be fun!” he yelled, pulling the greatsword from the chest. 

Just in time for three Wardens to burst into the dungeon, wild eyed and ferocious. Oghren charged, sword above his head. Fenris moved to the left, flanking…

Then he felt the pull of mana and cursed, dodging a fireball from the fourth Warden. A mage, of course. And fighting a mage in an enclosed space like this could be disastrous. Decisively, he rolled forward and straightened with a swift whistle and a jerk of his head that sent Lucia into the fray next to Oghren. Fenris raced to flank the mage,  who twisted nimbly in his robes with a high pitched laugh. Fenris smelt the sharp metallic tang of magic ice below his heels before he felt it and rolled just in time, the ground where he stood bursting into sharp shards of ice. 

“Move!” And the voice was like Hawke’s, but not. Still, instincts caused him to flatten himself against the ground and he felt a pull, heard the other mage gasp for breath. He couldn’t see it, but he could feel the mage behind him, Chantal, pulling mana from the other Warden, then releasing it in a howling storm of lighting that incapacitated two of the Warden warriors. 

“Ferelden bitch!” The mage screamed, his barrier pulsing under Chantal’s onslaught. “We should have killed your pets here!” 

Fenris felt the blast that shattered the mage’s barrier, throwing him against the open door. Crossing the room, Fenris sank his blade into the bared armpit of a man who was about to bring his sword down on Lucia. The mage was laughing, hysterically, and something red was spinning in the room. 

“Warden!” Oghren yelled. 

“Get back!” Chantal answered, slamming her staff into the ground, magic welling so forcefully the stones beneath her cracked with lighting. Deadly, dangerous energy whirled between the two mages then met in a mist that crackled the very ozone, lifting all the hair on Fenris’s neck. Fenris spared a look at the Warden mage as he used the hilt of his greatsword to knock the last warrior into Oghren’s blade. The man had rivulets of blood racing down his arms, the cloying form of blood magic lingering like oil in water. 

“I heard you refuse this power, Hero.” The other mage said mockingly. “Shall I show you?” 

“Feel free.” Chantal said icily. “I don’t need it.” 

The mage laughed and the power of his blood exploded, reaching and arching towards Chantal, who waited with staff gripped in her hand. She waited so long Fenris began to dread the inevitable bursting of her eyes, blood running down her face. But when the power reached her...she was gone, bursting into thousands of tiny insects, buzzing and swirling, descending like a cloud on the mage who screamed in shock and horror, falling backwards. His screams died down as he gripped his swelling throat and Fenris had to look away. 

He didn’t look back until Chantal breezed past him, human and her face as hard as nails. When he turned, the blood mage had no eyes. 

Hawke was pulling Zevran to his feet carefully and he was looking artfully amused until he saw Chantal. The other elf’s face pulled into a broad grin as he opened his arms wide. “Mi amor! And you’ve brought gifts!” 

Chantal handed the items she’d retrieved in the chest to him with a soft and pensive smile. “Your shirt’s gone, but the rest is there, including…” 

“The books!” Zevran said gleefully. “I suppose now we are officially purloining them instead of borrowing, yes?” 

Chantal laughed, shaking her head. “I suppose we are. Thieves, exiles, hunted traitors, Maker, it’s like the damned blight all over again.” 

“Of course, and you still look just as young as that fresh faced girl outside the tower for the first time. I shall have to endeavor to look out for charming and clever assassins who fall in love instead of completing the job.” Zevran grinned as he adjusted the daggers over his bare shoulders. Oghren groaned. 

“Blighted decade it’s been.” The dwarf swore. “Could push ‘em both in a lake.” 

“As much as I hate to disrupt this charming display…” Fenris began as something else hit the walls above them, making the keep shudder. 

“Escape!” Zevran said, grinning. “Last time, I broke you out of Fort Drakon, yes?” Zevran said as they marched forward, stopping to affectionately pat Lucia and moving nonchalantly past the Grey Warden bodies until he got to the stairs and laughed humorlessly. 

“I see you found Kraus, mi amor?” Zevran asked. Chantal didn’t look down as she stepped over the body, although Hawke did and looked up at Fenris with an arched brow. He simply shook his head. 

“Good, I was hoping that was who that was.” Chantal sniffed.

 

Fenris thought he’d run out of surprises, but he hadn’t. When they emerged from the darkness of the fort, they were confronted by something he never thought he’d see. A golem, was before the draw bridge, spells bouncing off it’s stone and crystals glowing furiously. “Shale!” Chantal called. The golem looked up and over the assembled wardens at the six of them. 

“The Warden has returned, finally! And she brings the painted elf and drunken dwarf.” The golem said, it’s stone fist smashing several wardens out of the way. “Perhaps she is content to leave now before the situation deteriorates further?” 

“You have a golem.” Hawke said in awe, jaw hanging open. “A real golem. You travel with a golem.” 

“Her name is Shale.” Zevran said flippantly. “You must have seen them in Tevinter?” 

“From a distance.” Fenris admitted. The golem roared and sent an archer flying. 

“Across the bridge!” Chantal ordered, lighting sparking from her staff. “Cousin, help me?” 

“At least you’re not boring!” Hawke said cheerfully, flames leaping into her own palm as their elements cleared the remaining wardens away, leaving them free to run. Halfway across, Fenris saw Hawke’s flames burn the ropes to pull the bridge back up and then he heard the mages and golem running behind them, magic flaring from their staffs and fingertips as they retreated. 

“And they’re following us.” Hawke groaned. “What a surprise.” 

“Got it covered.” Chantal said fiercely, her braids swinging. “No bridge, no problem.” Hawke smirked, leaned over and whispered something into Chantal’s ear that caused her to burst into bright peals of laughter, joined by Hawke’s. 

Hawke’s laughter echoed as they continued to push back, until they were almost across and then Chantal and Hawke both slammed their staff’s down in perfect sync, cracks spreading, stones crumbling. The few Wardens that were brave enough to attempt to follow retreated hastily as the bridge began to fall into the abyss and the two women stumbled backwards, Fenris catching Hawke and Zevran swooping to grasp Chantal’s elbow. Then they turned and laughing, stumbling, drunk on the adventure the two women ran past both Ogrhen and Shale, Lucia nipping at their heels happily as their dark hair streamed out behind them. Fenris shook his head in disbelief as he hurried after them, finally catching them at the bottom of the path where they were doubled over laughing. 

“Is this hysteria?” Fenris asked. “You do realize, in addition to regular templars, red templars, and venatori, we’ve just made an enemy of the Grey Wardens.” 

“Why are the Grey Wardens always up to mischief?” Hawke asked in between giggles. 

“This? This is the joke you were making on the bridge?” Fenris asked skeptically. 

“It’s in their blood!” Chantal burst in, beginning to giggle again. Zevran shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest. “Get it! Because of the taint! Maker…” 

“Were you drinking the stuff in my flask?” Oghren asked suspiciously. 

“Ah, poorly timed humor.” The golem said. “It’s never a near death escape without it.”

 

There was a small camp two miles off which they rapidly packed up while Zevran and Oghren tended to their recovered gear. Hawke and Fenris had all their own items except for the tents which had been in the saddlebags for their horses. Luckily, Chantal had one spare they’d never even bothered to set up. No horses, however, which was a damn shame as they began a long march away from Weisshaupt with all speed. Chantal was relatively confident it would take them at least a day or two to work around the bridge, but there was no reason to dawdle. Fenris watched Chantal’s back warily, thinking of that swarm of insects attacking the other mage with unease. Shale finally broke the silence. 

“The mage came from the Inquisition? Did it meet a dwarf calling herself Cadash?” Shale asked. 

“Is that me? Am I the mage? Isn’t she also a mage?” Hawke asked, jerking her thumb at Chantal. Chantal only smiled and rolled her eyes. 

“It is the flippant mage.” Shale responded. “She is the Warden and it did not answer my question.” 

“I’m still the painted elf and it’s been a decade.” Zevran explained with a shrug. 

“The Inquisitor is Maria Cadash, she is a dwarf.” Fenris answered. 

“The glowing elf is infinitely more helpful than the flippant mage. I think I prefer it’s company.” Shale fell back to Fenris, looking down and opening its mouth, but Oghren interrupted.  

“Ah, those Cadash girls.” Oghren said dreamily. “Saw a couple of ‘em at a tavern near Lake Callenhad years back.”

“They tied you up and robbed you.” Chantal said with a grin. “Then you got arrested for public indecency. I had to come and stand surety for your good behavior.” 

“Ah, but the tits on ‘em.” Oghren said fondly. 

“I suppose this Inquisitor is squishy and soft like so many dwarves?” Shale finally asked. “A pity.” 

“She is soft and squishy, sad but true.” Hawke responded, winking at Fenris.  

“The flippant mage had its chance to answer questions.” Shale pointed out, returning to Fenris.  “But this Inquisitor commands armies? And smites its enemies?” Shale prompted. 

“The smiting never stops with the Inquisition.” Hawke offered with a grin. Fenris coughed to hide his own laughter. Shale paused, eyes flashing at it looked at Hawke. 

“Perfect. As if it wasn’t hard enough that the painted elf never is quiet. I think I should return to Orlais.” The golem finally said. 

“You’d miss us.” Chantal said simply, with a kind smile directed at the golem. “Or, at least, you’d miss me.” 

“Besides, you can’t complain we’re no better than Orlesians.” Zevran asked, feigning shock. “ _ Orlesians _ , Shale.” 

Chantal laughed, and as she was distracted, Zevran pressed a hand to his abdomen. Fenris shared a quick glance with Hawke to make sure she’d seen it. Her blue eyes were focused intently on the gesture. 

“We should stop, rest for a bit.” Hawke declared. “We’re pushing hard for your injuries, maybe I can touch up my work a bit.” 

“Ah, we must make haste though.” Zevran protested. Chantal’s laugh died immediately and she turned to Zevran with wide worried eyes. 

“Are you still hurt?” She asked. 

“Only sore.” Zevran protested as Hawke moved closer to him, pushing him onto a nearby boulder firmly. 

“He’ll be fine, just a rest.” Hawke said breezily, fingers glowing blue. “I can touch up Oghren’s eye too.” 

“You don’t need to.” Zevran said with a chuckle. “It’s fine now, it always looks like that.” 

“I’ll break your kneecaps, elf.” Oghren threatened. 

While Zevran and Oghren bickered and Hawke healed, Fenris moved beside Chantal. “That...magic you used. It was disturbing.” He remarked. 

“The bird thing? Oh that’s  _ great _ .” Hawke gushed. “Do you think you could be a dragon? If you tried really hard?” 

“I prefer the insects to the bird, if anyone cares for my opinion.” Shale said dryly. 

“It’s forbidden for circle mages, actually the Chantry claimed it was impossible.” Chantal shrugged. “I imagine they just discouraged it because it made it easier for mages to escape. I’ve tried to teach it to several mages. Some were able to do so...others not so much.” 

“But it is not demons or blood magic?” Fenris asked suspiciously. Chantal smiled. 

“No. I’ve never used blood magic myself. It’s old hedge magic, the chasind still use it. I was taught it by a friend during the blight.” Chantal explained. 

“That, mi amor, is exactly the friend that the Wardens wanted to know about.” Zevran interrupted. “Specifically, what happened. Although they knew nothing, only that something must have.” 

Chantal let out a long, weary sigh. “Of course.” She said. “If I ever see Morrigan again, the first thing I’m going to do is punch her.” 

“Why do the Wardens want to know about this friend?” Fenris questioned. Chantal didn’t look at him, only continued to glare at Hawke’s fingers on Zevran’s skin as she continued her battlefield mending. 

“I lived and I should not have.” Her bitterness surprised him. “The death of an eighteen year old martyr would have served the Wardens much better than my continued existence. I’m...inconvenient. I suspect Alistair very much is as well.” 

Hawke looked puzzled, but Chantal continued. “It’s such a good story, no one ever stops to ask how the  _ fuck _ it happened. Two children… and we were children, don’t mistake it for a second. I wasn’t even eighteen at Ostagar and Alistair was barely old enough to grow a decent beard, rescued by the witch of the wild and tasked with saving Ferelden.” 

“It is my favorite story.” Zevran soothed patiently, as if he’d heard this a hundred times. It occured to Fenris he probably had. 

“Then we’re...thrust into politics of all things. Warden, choose a king, Warden, find a paragon, Warden, decide the fate of our clan. It was outrageous, like the whole blighted world lost its damn mind for a year. And finally, finally, we’re told we have to die. That we’re supposed to die. And Alistair was going to be king and I…” Chantal broke off, pleading with her warm brown eyes. “I didn’t want to die. I’d only just begun… I’d only started seeing the world outside the circle. I had friends, I fell asleep with the stars above me, I was in love. So I said no. I decided we wouldn’t die.” 

“What did you do?” Hawke asked quietly, the light dying on her fingertips. And for a brief second, Fenris didn’t see the Hero of Ferelden, the Warden Commander, the woman who had stared down a fortress full of wardens and destroyed a man utterly as a swarm of insects. He saw Chantal as she had been, a slip of a girl only a little younger than Hawke was when they met. 

“I’m still not entirely sure.” Chantal admitted. “But I’d do it again in a second.”

Hawke opened her mouth to ask questions, demand answers Fenris assumed, but Chantal simply held up her own hand to stop her. “No.” The woman said, exhaustion coloring every syllable. “It’s between four people, what happened. I’ll take it to my grave rather than risk hurting my friends, rather than risk hurting you because you know.”

 

When they made camp, Oghren unrolled a map and squinted at it before handing it to Chantal. She sighed, shaking her head before looking up at the assembled group. “We’ve been heading east, yes? Well, if we’ve covered as much ground as I think we have, we’ll be at Vol Dorma tomorrow.” 

“That sounds like it’s Tevinter.” Hawke observed, looking up and catching Fenris’s scowl before sighing. “It is Tevinter. Of course it’s Tevinter.” 

“I assumed that’s where you were going.” Chantal said. “We just came from there, you know. I assumed you were chasing the rumors.” 

“That the abomination is trying to raise an army to attack the templars in the south?” Fenris asked bitterly. “Yes, that is something we must solve.” 

Chantal looked..surprised and then uncomfortable, sharing a tight glance with Zevran. Before she could say, though, Oghren burst in. He was comfortably drunk, as Chantal assured them was usual, reclining by the fire. 

“Ah! Yer the one they were talkin’ bout.” Oghren said sagely. “Any idea who that nuglicker is lookin’ for? We tried to find out, but somebody…” And at this, Zevran sent a pointed glance at Chantal. “Is awful at bein’ undercover. Pretend to be a magister, we said. Simple enough, isn’t it? But noooooo… one public whipping and our Warden is defending the helpless and challenging magisters to duels.”

“We had to leave Tevinter in quite a hurry.” Zevran added casually. 

“What?” Hawke asked, turning to look at Chantal. “Looking for who?”

“Okay, before you get mad, I was  _ certain _ that’s why you were here.” Chantal began. 

“Mad about what?” Fenris asked, feeling his tone turning dangerous. 

“Anders.” Chantal said quickly. “I’d heard he was in Minrathous. Tried to find him while I was there, but couldn’t. I was following a lead on what happened during the first blight, trying to find the cure for the taint. I ended up leaving the city to chase down some knowledge in Marnus Pell, and while I was there, I heard…” 

“A duel of some sort in the Minrathous.” Zevran said smoothly. “But not between two magisters, that would have been common, no? In the slums of the city, and one a foreigner. It ended with a dead bystander and a path of destruction through the market. The other duelist, an elven women, escaped through the maze of slums in Minrathous. I admit, I got quite turned around in them myself a few times. They would be impossible for a foreigner to navigate.” 

“I did some digging about it while I was in Marnus Pell. I’m almost certain the foreigner was Anders and that he was looking for someone, the duel grew out of an argument where Anders demanded the woman turn over someone else. When we went back to Minrathous, I couldn’t find a trace of Anders or this woman.” Chantal finished. “I was looking, I swear, but then...well, a magister decided to publicly whip a woman to death for stealing a loaf of bread from his kitchen and I couldn’t stand by and allow it.” 

“Then we had to flee.” Zevran finished. “Right out of the pot and into the fire, as it appears.” 

Hawke swore but Fenris pushed himself up, turning to the barren scrubby country surrounding them. “But you know nothing else?” He asked tightly. 

“No. I’m sorry. I thought… I thought that’s why you had come.” Chantal whispered. “Hawke, I am sorry.” 

“I know.” Hawke said, but Fenris barely heard her. He was stalking into the darkness, swearing himself and feeling something sick in his stomach. Of all the people the abomination could track down, why Varania? What was the point? 

Anders had been there, had seen him nearly murder his own sister. He would have, if not for Hawke throwing herself between the two of them. He’d cast her out, hated her for a traitor, hated her even more for the bitter words she’d left in her wake. He cared not what happened to Varania, he thought bitterly. She deserved no worse. But something else was needling in his mind, a dark unpleasant thought swirling around him. Who else? Who else was out there, and what was their connection to Varania? What was their connection to him? 

Hawke approached him quietly, stopping behind him just close enough that he could reach out and touch her. “I cannot.” Fenris said. “I cannot...I cannot take you into Minrathous. It is the very heart and stomach of the imperium. I could take you nowhere more dangerous.” 

“Oh, Fenris…” Hawke sighed. “Did I not just take you battle a demon army? I think you’re owed a free pass to drag me into danger at your whim.” 

“We know...we know nothing of value.” Fenris argued. “We know nothing about what the abomination wanted or why.” 

“But it could be another family member. Someone Varania hid from you.” Hawke said gently. “Fenris, it could be your family, you may still have someone worth saving.” 

“I already have you.” Fenris said, turning and grabbing her arm. “I need no one else.” 

“Fenris… nobody  _ needs _ their family when they’re grown.” Hawke teased softly, kissing his chin in between the lyrium lines. “Do you want them?” She asked. 

“Yes.” Fenris admitted, something uncurling in his stomach like hope tinged with fear. And for the first time, Fenris allowed himself to think of others, perhaps like him, with green eyes and tanned skin. “I must know.”

“Then Minrathous it is, then.” Hawke said cheerfully. 


	35. Iron Ladies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bianca and Varric have a strained chat. Zarra Cadash simply refuses to leave.

_ “Varric, it’s over. It’s time for you to leave this… disaster in the trash heap where it soddin’ belongs.” Bartand said from inside the door, arms crossed disapprovingly over his chest. “Two of you have caused enough damage. She’s been nothing but trouble.” _

_ Varric barely heard him, because he was holding a letter in his hands and rereading words over and over he didn’t quite believe. Certain phrases jumped out at him. We’d have never lasted through the guild’s wrath. My parents hired more assassins. Couldn’t live with myself if you died for me. I married him yesterday.  _

_ I married him yesterday. Bianca wasn’t coming, Bianca would never be coming. He’d thought… he would have sworn she wouldn’t falter. He’d seen her heart and he’d known he had it, he’d been so damned sure.  _

_ “I’ve negotiated with her family through the guild and we can come to some agreement. Since we’ve almost started a bleedin’ war, it’s going to involve the two of you never setting eyes on each other again. Guild’s gonna enforce it. Not that it should matter, she’ll be too damned busy popping out Vasca babies.” Bartrand continued and Varric felt something twist and shatter in his heart.  _

_ “Bartrand.” He growled. “Get out or I shoot you, you great ass. Your choice.” _

_ “Better get used to it, little brother. She’s not yours and she never was.” Bartrand said with that infuriatingly smug sense of superiority. “Story is over.”  _

_ Oh, but it wasn’t. Because Bianca had someone smuggle a letter to him three weeks later, and it said she’d always love him and Varric was one thing if he was nothing else: stubborn.  _

 

_ The letters continued as the years passed. Twice, they even managed to arrange clandestine meetings right under the damn guild’s nose. Twice in four years, not nearly enough. That what he was thinking when Bartrand groused about a smuggler taking out one of his caravan’s out of nowhere.  _

_ “Aren’t you bleedin’ well in charge of this not happening? Or do you just sit on your ass and drink all day?” Bartrand asked.  _

_ “I play an astonishing amount of cards as well.” Varric answered.  _

_ “You’re a useless layabout.” Bartrand accused.  _

_ “We can’t all be upstanding paragons of Dwarven virtue.” Varric muttered, then soothingly smoothed Bartrand’s ruffled feathers by assuring he’d get to the bottom of it. And he did - although he ended up having to pay off the smugglers after the thought of taking them head on had been dissipated in rumors of one woman’s fighting prowess.  _

 

_ There were two names that controlled his life after that day, although he still thought it was only Bianca at that time. But the name Hawke was on his tongue, on everyone’s tongue. The first time he caught sight of her, basically dressed in rags and looking like she barely ate enough to keep going, he’d thought the rumors were exaggerated.  _

_ The Carta members who tried to jump her and her brother in Lowtown one night never were found though, burned to ashes in the street they said. And Varric filed the name away in between his letters to Bianca.  _

_ Bartrand said the Deep Roads expedition could change their lives, and Varric had to agree. He didn’t tell Bianca, but the plan was almost formed. Enough money, enough wealth and influence, and they could still make it out. Who the fuck cared about marriage, he didn’t need it, and it would serve her family right to have to explain the scandal. The problem was, he needed muscle and money. But if his sources were right, he knew where to find them. Unfortunately, they found Bartrand first, and Varric had to shake his head at the sheer stupidity of his brother as he examined the woman’s lively blue eyes, missing nothing as the pickpocket stole her purse. Bartrand was as dumb as a boiled nug and always would be, but he wouldn’t miss this chance.  _

_ “Alright, I’ll admit it.” Varric said one night, two weeks into their new...partnership. Hawke’s long human legs were stretched out in front of his fireplace and she was braiding her long dark hair. “I’ve never heard you called anything but Hawke. Hell, I’m not sure you have a first name.”  _

_ “Surely, you must have heard Carver say it?” Hawke asked.  _

_ “All I’ve ever heard Junior call you is Sister and some very not nice words.” Varric said. “Come on, Hawke. Is it Gertrude? I bet it’s Gertrude.”  _

_ “I think Gertrude Hawke has a lovely ring to it.” She grinned mischievously, reminding him very suddenly of how very young she was, despite her deadly abilities. “Alas, no. It isn’t Gertrude.”  _

_ “Mirabelle?” Varric guessed again. Hawke shook her head, laughing. “Well you need to give me somewhere to start.” Varric groused.  _

_ “Why is your crossbow called Bianca?” Hawke asked, tipping her own head quizzically to the side.   _

_ “Ah, you want the story behind Bianca and you’re willing to trade your name for it?” Varric asked, sitting back. “Interesting proposition, but I’m willing to bet I can get it out of Aveline or Junior.”  _

_ Hawke smirked, wrinkling her nose and stretching like a cat. “Oh, you can try dwarf.”  _

 

_ It turned out to be much harder than he thought. Aveline had no clue what Hawke’s given name was and didn’t seem very interested in it. Carver had been brought into the game by Hawke herself and refused to give it up (although he admitted he was very much enjoying calling his sister names freely since he was instructed not to use hers).  In the mean time, Hawke managed to collect a motley group of misfits that centered more and more on his suite in the Hanged Man. And yet… _

_ “Portia.” Varric guessed as he played diamondback with the whole crew shoved around his table so close their elbows banged against each other.  _

_ “Nope.” Hawke said, grinning. “Not Portia.”  _

_ “Oh! I know it!” Merrill beamed. “It’s so very pretty. Much prettier than Portia.”  _

_ Varric coughed, glaring at Hawke who looked back innocently. “Daisy knows, but I don’t?”  _

_ “We all know.” Anders winked, looking remarkably relaxed for a change on Hawke’s left, his arm curled around the back of Hawke’s chair loosely.  _

_ “I still don’t know or care.” Aveline grumbled, looking at her cards. “Maker’s ass, I’m going to lose again.”  _

_ “You can’t all know.” Varric said, but Hawke simply laughed brightly. _

_ “Yes they do. Even Fenris knows.” Hawke jerked her head towards the silent, brooding presence in the corner sipping directly from a bottle of wine. The elf simply raised an eyebrow as Varric turned to look at him.  _

_ “You told Broody?” Varric said. “Broody-who-hates-mages knows your name, but I don’t.”  _

_ “For someone who hates mages, he sure spends an awful lot of time staring at one.” Carver mumbled under his breath.  _

_ “You know the cost.” Hawke said, smiling as she laid down her winning hand and pulled her winnings toward her.  _

 

_ They were running out of food, left with their meager supplies they’d been carrying when Bartrand abandoned them. So, if the darkspawn or demons or rock wraiths didn’t kill them, starvation certainly would. Oh, Varric was going to find Bartrand and disembowel him. Slowly.  _

_ They all looked bad, although Varric had to say today Junior looked worst. Hawke had noticed too, he’d seen her slip her own rations into Carver’s allotment and had skipped her meal altogether. Then she’d offered to take first watch with her empty stomach while the rest of them got some rest. Although whether or not it was day or night, Varric wasn’t even sure. He fucking hated the deep roads. He hated this expedition. He hated that he’d never see Bianca again, and she’d probably never even know what happened to him.  _

_ He couldn’t sleep, so he stood and made his way to Hawke, sitting beside her with his crossbow on his knees. “Hey.” He said softly. “You holdin’ up okay?”  _

_ “Of course I am.” Hawke answered brightly. “This is the best vacation I’ve ever had. We should sell tickets. Near death tours of the deep roads.”  _

_ Varric chuckled ruefully, letting the silence stretch between them comfortably until Hawke said one word, hanging like music in the air. “Reyna.” She paused, letting her voice fade before she continued. “Reyna Hawke. If I die, you should know that. You can put it in your stories.”  _

_ Unsure of what to say, Varric turned to his old standby. “I think I liked Gertrude better. You should consider changing it.”  _

_ Hawke giggled softly, rubbing her face tiredly. “I’ll take it under consideration.”  _

_ “Bianca and I… it’s complicated.” Varric said, haltingly. He’d told no one, couldn’t bear the words or telling the story.  _

_ “You don’t have to tell me.” Hawke assured. “Game over, I give in. You win.”  _

_ “No, I want to. If I die down here, you can write her a letter. Her family forced her to marry another dwarf in Orlais. She’s...brilliant. Fantastic. The best smith I’ve ever met, beautiful, passionate…” Varric trailed off, fighting off the dark edge to his voice. “But when we tried to run away together, she didn’t come. She said she was frightened her family would have me killed, that it was hopeless. So, she married the other dwarf. I thought...this expedition would finally give me enough to convince her to start over with me.” _

_ “Maker, Varric, that’s tragic.” Hawke said. “And after all this time, and her husband, you’re still...together?” _

_ “Letters mostly.” He admitted. “We’ve seen each other twice.” _

_ Hawke sighed, shaking her head in the dark. “I’m sorry, Varric.”  _

_ “Don’t be. I’m the one that used you to get here, then got us all stuck down here.” Varric swore under his breath. “I’m sorry Hawke. You’re...you’re a good friend. I didn’t want this to happen to us, to you.”  _

_ “You should be apologizing.” Hawke teased. “Getting me stuck down here with Carver, Anders, and Fenris? I’ll never forgive you.”  _

_ “I’ll accept blame for Junior, but the other two were your doing. Why you thought it was a good idea to bring the two who want to jump your bones down here, I’ll never figure out.” Varric shook his head and Hawke continued to laugh.  _

_ “At least it isn’t boring.” She said with a small smile. _

 

Varric was snapped immediately back to the present by Bianca getting off the bed, striding across the room to grab his shirt with a small laugh, leaning up towards his lips. “I’ve missed you.” She purred. 

No, he thought, stepping back and into the door. His fingers covered hers, pulling them from the fabric before words came tumbling from his lips in a torrent. “Maker’s  _ ass _ , Bianca. What are you doing here?” 

“That’s it?” She asked, something flashing across her eyes too quickly for Varric to capture and name it. “No proper hello?” 

“I haven’t heard from you in four years!” Varric exploded. “Four damn years, Bianca, and four of the hardest years of my life.”

“Well, that’s hardly my fault.” Bianca answered reasonably enough, her hands on her hips. “I didn’t drag you into a war. I didn’t almost get you killed a dozen times, that was all Hawke. As it usually is.” 

She might as well have, he thought as he remembered the cold winter in Llomeryn when the letters never came. Bianca continued, plowing through his pain like a force of nature. “I got your letters while you were on the run, but I couldn’t risk sending my own. You  _ know _ that. What if someone had intercepted them? Or they fell into the wrong hands?” She asked. 

“I went back to Kirkwall.” Varric clenched his jaw so tightly he could feel a vein pulsing. He spoke through gritted teeth. “I went back to Kirkwall and you knew where I was.” 

“You didn’t write when you were back in Kirkwall.” Bianca shrugged carelessly. “I waited, but you didn’t write.”

“Bullshit.” He growled. “Bullshit. Don’t lie to me.” 

“Fine.” Bianca’s face and eyes grew hard. “You put your life, your reputation, your house… all on the line for an ungrateful apostate. I was furious with you!” 

“Don’t talk about Hawke like that.” Varric couldn’t quite keep the menacing tone from his voice. Bianca rolled her beautiful turquoise eyes and threw her hands up in exasperation. 

“Of course. Maker forbid we tell the truth about your great Champion. I’m sure she tried her hardest not to destroy the city with all the great tact and diplomacy of a brigand.” Bianca muttered, taking a step back and wrinkling her nose. “Did she even show when they took you into custody to interrogate you about where the infamous criminal was hiding?” 

“As a matter of fact, she did.” Varric answered. “Nearly immediately. Then when I asked for her help she showed up.” Unlike you, the words went unsaid. But Bianca still reacted to them like she’d been slapped, straightening like a rod. 

“I’m here now.” She said stiffly. 

“Of course you are. You know, for not liking her very much, Hawke has you pegged. She tried to warn me you’d show up as soon as you heard about…” Varric stopped, uncertain, and Bianca smirked. 

“About your Inquisitor?” She finished. “Varric, like I care about where you meet your needs. I never have, and I’ve heard she’s quite pretty for Carta.” 

“It isn’t like that.” Varric snapped. “Damn it, Bianca, stop.” 

Whatever was on his face gave him away and Bianca’s lips turned up humorlessly. She pursed her lips and turned, scanning the room again. “You haven’t slept with her yet. I was wondering why there was no trace of a woman in here. Pity that, I wanted to ask if the red hair…” 

Swearing loudly, Varric turned and wrenched open the door to leave, to make his way to Maria and… well, he wasn’t quite sure. Groveling may be in order, especially if Zarra Cadash had taken advantage of his absence to spill exactly who was in his room. 

“Varric, wait.” Bianca called, her voice clear and… young, like they had been. It made him pause just long enough for her to grab his elbow and pull him back, reach around him and shut the door. “You don’t have to rush off. No one knows I’m here and I didn’t… I didn’t come here to fight. I’m so tired of fighting with you.” 

“Me too.” Varric admitted. It was over, over and gone and dust. Bianca sighed. 

“I came here because… the thaig you found, the location’s been leaked. One of the entrances is crawling with strange humans carting out red lyrium by the bucketful.” She explained. 

“Shit. Shit,  _ shit. _ ” Varric repeated, stunned. “Which entrance? The one in Orlais?” 

“No, the one in the Hinterlands, not far from here. I don’t know who leaked the location, but it’s a mess. Maybe I shouldn’t have come in person, but the guild isn’t paying attention with the hole in the sky and… I’ve missed you.” 

“You shouldn’t have come.” Varric sighed. “I appreciate the gesture, but you shouldn’t have come.” 

“You hate me that much?” Bianca asked, eyes wide as she pushed her blonde hair behind her ear nervously. 

“I could never hate you.” Varric answered, turning the handle of the door. “But, you shouldn’t have come. The Inquisitor’s grandmother is here, and she knows you’re here.” 

This caused Bianca to pause, face growing pale. “Oh, shit.” She hissed. “I was so careful, I… shit. Do you think she’ll tell the guild?” 

“If I were you, I’d come and make my case that there’s nothing to tell the guild about.” Varric said stonily. 

“There isn’t?” Bianca questioned softly. 

“Not anymore.” Varric answered, refusing to meet her eyes. “Not anymore.” 

 

Bianca pulled her hood over her head, hiding her trademark blonde locks from prying eyes as they made their way silently back into the great hall. He wasn’t sure if he was relieved or disappointed to see that Maria and Zarra Cadash were still nearly exactly where he left them, both of their eyes flicking up as Varric pushed through the door. Maria looked content, but Zarra Cadash stared right through him and into Bianca with an icy stillness that reminded him, rather ridiculously, of Aveline. 

“You brought a friend.” Maria observed smoothly, straightening and assuming the posture of the Inquisitor, holding out her gloved hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” 

Zarra’s eyes were hard as diamonds, fixed on Maria’s outstretched hand. Bianca pushed past Varric with her elbow, reaching out with a smile as disarming as he’d always known she could be. 

“It’s certainly an honor to meet a friend of Varric’s.” Bianca’s voice was pitched so low Maria had to lean in slightly to catch it. “Bianca Davri, Inquisitor.” 

Maria didn’t drop her hand, which led to a steely nod of approval from Zarra. Her smile didn’t falter, but something slammed shut behind her eyes. Then she barred the door and blew out the lanterns. Varric winced internally. 

“She’s here on business.” Varric explained. “Red lyrium business.” 

“My least favorite kind of business.” Maria declared. 

“Inquisitor!” Cullen yelled from the great door, hand on his sword as he rushed in. 

“Ah, but you seem so busy. Perhaps Varric and I can handle it with some inquisition soldiers…” Bianca trailed off as Maria held up one finger and turned in irritation to Cullen. 

“What?” She snapped as viciously as Varric had seen Cullen snap at recruits. The man realized it immediately, looking rather taken aback as he sputtered defensively. 

“The Mayor of Crestwood… he’s been apprehended. They’re bringing him in now, I know you...you said it was urgent and you be told straight away. At once.” 

“Andraste’s flaming tits.” Maria swore. “Of course. Do we have dungeons? Throw him in a dungeon. I’ll deal with it when we get back.” 

“Where are you going?” Cullen asked, surprised. “You’ve only just returned.” 

Maria turned to Bianca, raising one eyebrow in question. “You asked for the Inquisition’s help, didn’t you? I can’t think of anything I wouldn’t do for a friend of Varric’s. I’ll handle it personally.” 

Bianca frowned only slightly. “Glad to have you on our side.” She murmured, then smiled brightly and turned to Varric, a hand resting lightly on his shoulder. “I’ll meet you at the stables, don’t keep me waiting.” 

Bianca turned with a slight incline of her head to the Inquisitor, whose eyes were cracking rather stormily. As she slipped past Cullen, she found her way blocked by Zarra. The older woman was smiling...kindly. That, he thought grimly, was probably more dangerous than her glare. 

“Ah! I did not expect to see you here.” Zarra said smoothly. “Your mother is such a dear.” 

“No she isn’t.” Bianca said with a wry smile. 

“Well, no.” Zarra sighed. “But they say the apple never falls far and your dear grandmother was a piece of work.” 

“Didn’t the Cadash clan have her killed?” Bianca asked lightly. 

“Terrible business that.” Zarra said with a beaming smile. “Terrible business. Have fun, dear, and please pass on my love to your husband.” 

Cullen had the grace to cover his snort of laughter with a cough, muttering apologetically at Maria’s glare before taking off as quickly as he could without tripping over himself or his ridiculous jacket. With a glare, Bianca followed him. Zarra rubbed her hands on her tunic as if brushing off dirt. 

“Well done, my dear.” Zarra said. “Admirable.” 

“Shut it.” Maria said coldly, turning to Varric. 

“One question, one very simple question, Tethras.” Maria said lowly. “And I’ll have a straight answer.” 

“I didn’t know she was here.” Varric started to explain. “I…”

“Oh, I’m not a fucking idiot. I’ve never seen you look so sick, and I saw a dragon nearly eat you and then I got your ass dumped into the fade. You had no idea she was coming, that’s clear, what I want to know is if you still want her after...after everything.” Maria finished, eyes flashing. 

And Maker’s ass, she was beautiful. Furious, most certainly, deadly as a dragon herself, but beautiful. He fought the urge to reach up and push a stray lock of hair behind the delicate curve of her ear and expose more of that proud jawline. Now that Bianca was gone, now that the only audience she had was her grandmother, fury stained her cheeks with red. “No.” He answered, honest and simple. What was Sera always saying about him? He said too much and nothing of substance? “No.” He repeated, gently. “I’d have sent her away, but I discovered the thaig. I let this shit into the world. It’s my responsibility.” 

Maria nodded, tense but accepting, before turning to Zarra. The older woman was leaning on the table, head cocked introspectively to the side. Her face was so opaque Varic couldn’t hope to read her thoughts, and he prided himself on reading people. “A fine display, Nanna. You can get out.” Maria ordered. 

“I’m afraid I will not.” Zarra said calmly. “I won’t be chased out of my granddaughter’s new home by a bitter harpy.” 

“She’s not chasing you out, I am.” Maria seethed quietly. “You knew. You knew and let him walk up there anyway. What kind of sick test…” 

“Girl, I’m not leaving this place until I'm ready. Unless you have one of your men-at-arms carry me out. And if you do, it better be that fine Commander of yours so I have a bit of fun with it.” Zarra said simply. “But we both know you won’t actually order it.” 

Maria was screaming internally, he could see it. Zarra continued on calmly, pleasantly. “Besides, I’m waiting for Beatrix to send me some information.”

“Information on who?” Maria demanded, then let out a groan at Zarra’s sweet smile. 

“Damn you both to the void.” She said, glaring. “If you’re still here when I get back, I swear to the Maker and Andraste herself I will throw you out.” Then she turned to Varric, shaking her head. “See if you can convince one or two of our friends to come with us. Give me two hours to get ready.” 

“Thank you.” Varric couldn’t help himself, reaching out and wrapping his fingers in hers, squeezing them. “For trusting me.” 

“You wouldn't be here if I didn’t.” Maria smiled gently, returning the squeeze. “Now let me go get sorted.” 

 

Varric gathered up a small team of people he strongly hoped would be sympathetic. Dorian, with his past records of misdeeds allowed him to explain the situation in strained silence. “Varric, you’re asking me to get involved in this mess?” He asked. “Who in their right mind brings their former lover to ask for assistance from the current one? Ah, never mind, I answered my own question.”

While Dorian agreed reluctantly, Iron Bull was truly excited. “Damn! Do you think they’ll fight?” Bull asked with a chuckle. “Always loved two women fighting. Particularly if clothes got ripped off. The Qun is really missing out by not letting women fight.” 

Then he waited by the stairs to the Inquisitor’s chamber until she came down, fresh leather armor on, hair pulled back into a high ponytail with a small braid on the right leading into it. She nearly ran into him, then laughed. “Eager?” 

“Bull and Dorian are coming. Bull’s excited, Dorian is substantially less so. Do you think we need others?” He asked.

“I don’t know.” Maria said slowly. “Perhaps Cassandra or Sera? I bet they’d love this trip.” 

He wasn’t sure she was teasing him until he saw her lips twitch and he sighed in relief. “Yes. I’m sure they’d love the chance to beat me to a pulp for dragging you into this mess.” 

“Don’t be so hard on yourself. They’ll be plenty hard on you on their own.” Maria said, smiling as they walked through the great hall, meeting eyes of those lingering and nodding in their direction. A group of children in the corner were giggling, and when she them they all sunk into deep bows and proper curtsies, making Maria laugh as she dropped her own curstsy and Varric sunk into a bow. 

Zarra Cadash was still rooted firmly in front of the hearth, smiling slightly down at her papers as Maria breezed past without a word or glance. She looked up as Varric followed, nailing him in place with her eyes. “Not often I’m surprised, Deshyr.” She commented. 

“That’s me, just full of surprises.” Varric replied. 

“Funny. I am as well.” Zarra said dryly, her quill scratching on the paper in a dismissal as clear as a bell. 

Bull and Dorian were already at the stables, saddling up their mounts and chatting amicably. Bianca leaned against a wall, silent and suspicious until Varric and Maria appeared. 

“Inquisitor! I’d thought you changed your mind.” Bianca said. “Are one of these ridiculously sized mounts yours?” 

“Yes.” Maria answered with a smile full of daggers as she moved past. “She’s right here, actually. An Amaranthine Charger, I call her Suzanne.” 

“Impressive.” Bianca drawled, taking in the large black horse who poked her head from her stall and whinnied as Maria moved past, brushing the horses snout with the back of her hand. 

“I think so.” Maria said. “But I’ll take the pony this time, Suzanne had a hell of a journey back from the Western Approach. Besides, there’s nobody I need to impress on this little jaunt.” 

Bianca couldn’t quite keep the scowl from her face. “Shocking, honestly, that a Carta dwarf knows how to ride.” 

“I didn’t!” Maria admitted cheerfully, leading two ponies out of their stalls and handing the reins to one to Varric. He took them with a small, unsure smile. “But, riding is a big upgrade from walking or being bounced around in carts.” Maria continued. “And sometimes, you’re due for an upgrade after doing something one way for so long, yes?” 

Dorian and Bull shared an excited glance. Varric fought the urge to turn and run as he mounted. 

“You alright, Varric?” Iron Bull  whispered low as Bianca mounted her own pony. “We’ve got some of the good stuff in a flask here, if you need it.” 

“This is my punishment.” Varric grumbled through gritted teeth. “Lust over the Herald of Andraste, get kicked in the balls by the Maker.” 

“Well, at least it isn’t just lust.” Bull remarked sagely. “No man would do this for lust.” 

Dorian snorted with barely suppressed laughter. 


	36. Vol Dorma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An enemy is revealed. Hawke practices passing as a Magister.

They had made exactly as much progress on their way to Vol Dorma as Chantal had thought. She had shrugged and stated when one spent as much time as she did marching around, you got quite good at estimating time and distances. She said she’d completed a full circle of Ferelden three times during the blight. Shale said it was because the soft creatures kept getting lost and questioned how they had managed to stop the blight in the first place. “Everyone’s a critic.” Chantal sniffed. 

They did not enter the city that night, instead making camp a respectable distance away. Chantal said, quite firmly, she had no intention in setting foot in another Tevinter city unless she had to. The more she spoke, the more anxious Hawke appeared. Finally, Fenris growled at Chantal that she wasn’t helping, and the Warden, rather contritely, endeavored to get Hawke to help make sense of her stolen tomes from the Warden fortress. This left Hawke with little free time to dread, and gave Fenris time to plan. His ally in this, surprisingly, was Zevran.

“Subterfuge will be easier for you and her.” Zevran explained. “She is a natural actress, no? And you are much more familiar with Tevinter than I, so you can steer her straight.”

The problem would come down to, quite simply, gaining entry to the city of Minrathous. There was only one way in and out of the city and it was manned heavily by guards. The best way to get through without being stopped was to look too important and distinguished to stop. Chantal had agreed to this plan originally as well, posing as a Magister with a dwarf and golem bodyguards and an elven slave. She’d been able to maintain the facade going in and out of the city, but as Zevran explained she was hopeless at lying. Too much chantry as a child, he explained sympathetically. Inside Minrathous itself…

It was a cruel city, Fenris knew this. Zevran did not need to explain, yet he did. “She… she hated the circle, but she hated more that she did not hate it until she left it. Sometimes our cages are so exquisite, we never dream of leaving. Chantal was the pampered pet of the first enchanter, a favored apprentice, and so young when she was brought to the circle she knew nothing else. Seeing Minrathous reminded her of this, I suspect, so many people bound to their cages.” 

“The slaves of Minrathous have precious few ways to leave.” Fenris couldn’t quite keep the anger out of his voice. Zevran simply smiled sadly. 

“Ah, neither did the mages of Kinloch hold. She choose a death sentence to escape and I imagine many of the slaves would understand her predicament quite well.” He turned and looked at Chantal and Hake, laying on their bedrolls beside the fire, books in hand. Fenris said nothing, could say nothing past the rising lump of dread in his throat. 

They retired to their tent when Zevran and Chantal retire to theirs, leaving Oghren singing drunkenly under his breath and Shale critiquing it. No point in setting watch, Chantal says brightly, if Shale hasn’t murdered them in their sleep yet she’s unlikely to do so. Fenris does not find this comforting, but Hawke in his arms more than made up for it as he pulled her to him desperately, like a man dying of thirst. She muffled her cries of pleasure against his shoulder as he took her, fingers tangled in his hair. “I will let nothing take you from me.” He whispered to her after, when he held her tight. 

“I know.” She answered groggily, lacing her fingers with his. “Go to sleep Fenris.” 

And he does, smiling. 

 

_ It is the slave’s auction in Minrathous, right off the docks. Fenris had been there often enough, unfortunately. Mostly to get rid of the slaves Danarius deemed ruined, those who had been maimed too badly to continue serving him and to assist in hauling back to the estate the new ones, trembling fearfully when informed who their new master was. Several times, a younger slave had burst into tears, such had Danarius’s cruelty been known.  _

_ But Danarius is here now, his eyes glowing fade blue and holding a chain attached to a collar welded shut around Hawke’s slender neck. She is naked, covered in bruises, and trembling as she kneels beside him, blood pooling from her split lip down her face and chest.  _

_ He goes to yell, but no sound comes. Then, the image is frozen, as if time itself has stopped, and there is a woman with dark hair and yellow eyes beside him, glaring up at Danarius with reproach.  _

_ “I sought my friend, and while searching for her dream, I find yours instead. Blast and damnation for me, but fortunate for you.” And her yellow eyes turn from Danarius to him with a smirk. “Unless you want this demon to continue to torment you?”  _

_ Demon? Before he can question, Danarius’s mouth is open, but it is not Danarius’s voice. “Begone, Intruder!” The voice rumbles like a force of nature. “Do not interfere with Justice!”  _

_ “Is that you call yourself?” The dark haired woman laughed, raising her hand and snapping her fingers. The scene dissolved, replaced with…  _

_ The clinic, Darktown’s clinic, Ander’s clinic. And instead of Danarius, Anders stood before them with the demon inside him glowing blinding blue. “Twould seem that you’re but a silly boy with too much time on his hands. Go play elsewhere, I have business to conclude here.”  _

_ Anders stepped forward, the woman stretched out her hand. Something pulsed, and changed, and then Fenris was around a fire, it’s warm glow sending embers up into the night sky as a red headed young woman hummed, braiding the dark hair of the woman seated before her. The woman, near Hawke’s doppelganger, had wide brown eyes that were flitting between the two young men across the fire even as her hand stroked a large Mabari hound who laid his head in her lap. _

_ “The stories we hear down here about the crows...they’re not true, are they? They sound far fetched.” The first young man said as he polished his breastplate, scratching at his beard.  _

_ “I cannot say.” The blonde elf said from his lounging position on the ground. “What have you heard? In Antiva, we hear Ferelden men can’t bear to sleep without a dog.”  _

_ “Morrigan would say that is because the dogs are the only things the men can talk into their bed.” The red head said slyly. “Isn’t that right, Morrigan?” _

_ “Perhaps it is simply a comment on the poor state of your women.” A gruff voice said. A hornless Qunari stood, a bit apart from the others. Zevran, a much younger Zevran, laughed.  _

_ “But I’m Ferelden.” The girl getting her hair braided protested, sounding properly hurt.  _

_ “Ah, little enchantress, that is how we know the stories are not true.” Zevran assured quickly. “For you carry the very stars in your eyes.”  _

_ The red head scoffed, shaking her head. “Do not pay attention to them, Chantal.”  _

_ The girl, the hero of Ferelden, blushed almost crimson and Zevran continued without comment.  _ _   
_ _ “But those stories, Alistair? All true.”  _

_ “Really, even…” Alistair began, as wide eyed as Chantal.  _

_ “Especially those ones.” Zevran said suggestively.  _

_ “Maker, I’m in the wrong order.” Alistair muttered under his breath.  _

_ “See anyone you recognize, elf? Ah, I thought so.” The witch was beside him, yellow eyes gleaming. “Tell her you saw this, so she knows it was me. Fool woman has always slept light as a cat, I may never catch her here. Then tell her I said to go west, to where the old magic is. She’ll find it there, I know it.”  _

_ “Who are you? What was… before this?” Fenris asked, bewildered and confused and… angry.  _

_ “They call me the Witch of the Wilds. And before this...I think you know well enough who hunts you, more than I certainly. Some spirit or demon who holds a grudge and twists your dreams. He will return, as I suspect he has for some time, until you end it.” And with that, the witch smirked again and snapped her fingers. _

Fenris awoke with heart hammering, but Hawke had not stirred. Her heartbeat was reassuring under his curled fingers, thrumming steadily as he breathed in and out, thoughts racing. Then he shifted Hawke gently and decisively, exiting the tent to a sky full of burning stars and someone humming. Humming the same song the red headed woman had been humming, hands full of dark hair and a fire burning before them. And when he looked up, he saw the older version of that girl scratching behind Lucia’s ears as she stared into the flames. Shale, Oghren, Zevran were all nowhere to be found. At his approach, she stopped her humming and turned with a pleasant and gentle smile. 

“I hope I didn’t wake you. I haven’t slept through the whole night since before the blight. Drives Zevran mad.” She offered. “Fine mabari, you have. I had a companion just like him when I was younger.” 

“The King of Ferelden said she was bred of that one.” Fenris said, gathering his scattered thoughts, pondering if he was still dreaming. 

“Ah! I thought you looked familiar.” Chantal said, smiling fondly at Lucia. “A fine hound, he was. You have a great legacy to live up to.” Lucia’s stump of a tail wiggled and her tongue slipped from her snout as she gave the finest example of her own smile. 

“Do you know a mage with yellow eyes and dark hair?” Fenris asked, then watched as Chantal’s hand froze in mid-air. “A witch of the wilds, one who can walk the fade? She came to me as I slept, inserted herself in my dreams, showed a memory of you gathered around the fire with Zevran and King Alistair, a Qunari, and a red headed…” 

“Sten and Leliana.” Chantal finished before he could. “Sweet Andraste, what was she doing bothering you?” 

Fenris took a deep breath, and told her. 

 

After he finished, Chantal woke up everyone in a whirlwind of fury and fear. Hawke still rubbed the sleep from his eyes as he told the whole thing again, watching as her blue eyes became troubled, then furious. 

Shale declared that the “swamp witch” had never been a reliable ally. Zevran pointed out in a reasonable tone that Morrigan had yet to  _ actually _ stab them in the back. Oghren was confused and needed prompting from Chantal to remember which of “her bleedin’ strays” they were talking about. But it was Hawke he watched, her face ashen and blue eyes burning, silent until Chantal said they’d go with them to hunt Anders down. Hawke turned and asked Chantal one simple question. 

“Do you still think you’d save him?” She asked. And Chantal hesitated just long enough for Hawke to smile wryly. Chantal sighed, dropping her eyes to her clenched hands. “Too sweet, just like Bethany.” Hawke muttered. 

“You don’t understand what it was like in the circle.” Chantal argued, nails pressing into her palms. “You didn’t know Justice and Anders before.” Then she stood, turning quickly and crashing into the darkness and underbrush. 

“She’ll be alright.” Zevran said smoothly. “For the record, I very much agree. She doesn’t have it in her heart to kill the man and he poses too great a danger to you and your husband to live.” 

“So we head west into the great unknown?” Oghren asked suspiciously. 

“We need a great deal more supplies than we have currently, I’m afraid. A week, perhaps more?” Zevran paused, thinking. “Enough time to see you on your way, cousins.” 

Hawke smiled, fragile and bitter in her face. “Thank you.”

“Do not thank me.” Zevran said seriously, standing. “I fear our quest has a time limit and I cannot bear a delay.” 

“Thank you regardless.” Fenris added on stiffly.

 

The week to gather supplies stretched into two. Chantal was talked round to leaving by Shale and Zevran in turn and focused her efforts on teaching Hawke everything Chantal herself knew about Grey Warden lore, magic, Anders and Justice prior to their merging, and the witch named Morrigan with a desperation born of a woman who truly believed she would never return from the west when she left. In return, Hawke helped Chantal stockpile poultices and potions, dozens of little bottles rolled in soft cloth and stuffed securely into packs. 

Zevran’s attitude was much more practical, focused on assembling enough ingredients for healing draughts, whetstones, warm cloaks, blankets, spare boots. He had asked Zevran on his first excursion (alone, since Oghren and Shale refused to accompany him and it was thought better for Chantal and Hawke to  remain out of sight) to bring back items for him. When he spread them out in their tent that night, Hawke had laughed and traced up the new chainmail armor. 

“Years I’ve spent trying to get you out of that spiky contraption you wear. If I’d have known a trip to Tevinter would accomplish it.” Her tone was gently teasing, even if her expression was petulant. 

“I hope to make myself less conspicuous. I may have… more fame in Tevinter than I would like.” Fenris admitted. 

“Well that will be a welcome change of pace.” Hawke muttered. “I’m sick of being the one everyone talks about. Let’s try it on.” 

And so, he stripped off the last vestiges of his life before Kirkwall, replacing it with a long sleeved mail shirt and dark leather and steel gauntlets. It settled, cold against the lyrium and Hawke smiled, resting her lips gently on his cheek. “It is perfect.” She whispered. 

With a cloak thrown up that shadowed his face, he made his first foray into Vol Dorma with Zevran. Fenris had passed through the bustling market town several times during his tenure as Danarius’s bodyguard. Then, people had scurried out of his way, throwing terrified glances at his sword and his master. Now, the two elves had to push through the crowds to the market stalls. Although cautious glances were thrown at Fenris’s sword, nobody paid the two much mind as they made their purchases. Powders for the face from a woman who asked Fenris to thank his Mistress for her, layers of expensive silk that he brought to a tailor, where the man took Hawke’s measurements without blinking an eye, despite the grumbling that depriving a master such as him of a canvas to show his clothes was a crime. Several rather expensive gold bangles. 

When they returned, Hawke laughed at the shining bracelets and held them up to the light. “Is this really necessary?” She asked skeptically. “I only need to get into the damned city, Fenris.” 

“You’ve got to pass the whole way up the Imperial Highway.” Chantal observed. “Then get into the city.” 

“Lovely.” Hawke’s face darkened and she looked up at Fenris. “We don’t have to do this. We can...I don’t know, climb the walls.” 

“This is our best chance.” Fenris said with a shrug. And when they went to sleep, Hawke found him in his dreams and brought him to her field of flowers in Lothering, where he was safe from Anders or Justice or whatever he now was. Despite her best efforts to appear calm and peaceful, thunder rolled on the horizon and Hawke scowled at it. 

Three days later, Fenris picked up the silk dresses and brought them back to Hawke. Chantal’s eyes lit up at the beauty of the material and she held the fabric up to Hawke’s skin thoughtfully. They vanished into Chantal’s tent, the other woman giggling as the fabric rustled. When they emerged, Hawke was a vision in delicate and sinfully sheer layers of scarlet and cream fabric that did little to hide her form, her hair loose around her shoulders. 

“We will have to do something about your hair. A proper Magister would never leave it loose or braid it so simply.” Fenris observed. 

“Thank the Maker I’m not a proper Magister.” Hawke snapped, moving the fabric with an annoyed twitch of her hand. 

“And your complexion is too pale, even for a proper lady from Minrathous.” Zevran shrugged apologetically. “The powder will help, no?” 

“I’ll teach you some tricks. Leliana did quite well at educating me.” Chantal offered, smoothing Hawke’s long hair back. 

“I do not want to learn…” Hawke began. Chantal simply clucked her tongue. 

“I’ll teach you that trick to change into a bird. You could be a real hawk, what do you think?” Hawke’s eyes burned, but her teeth clicked shut and she simply smouldered into the fire. 

The next day, Fenris took Hawke into Vol Dorma with her skin brushed copper with the powder, bare forearms shadowed in scarlet silk and blue eyes lined in kohl with her hair braided intricately around the crown of her head. They’d already had an argument before entering the city when Fenris insisted she had to walk a few steps in front of him instead of by his side and Hawke had threatened to storm the gates of Minrathous single-handedly rather than put up the charade one moment longer. “See, you’ll do fine.” Zevran said generously. “You’ve already got the temper down.” 

That had been enough to get her out of camp, but she lingered before the market anxiously in a quiet alley, her head turning just a fraction towards Fenris. “Don’t look at me, venhedis woman. Do you think a Magister looks to her slaves?” 

“You are not a slave.” Hawke hissed. “I  _ hate _ this.” 

There were tears in her throat, even if he couldn’t see them. She continued. “You’re going to hate me by the end of this, I’ll be everything you hate. I can’t…” 

Fenris chuckled, low in his throat, reaching out to let his gauntleted fingers brush her shoulder lightly. “I have never been more sure of you, Reyna. I can see what this costs you.” 

“Fenris, if it… if you can’t bear it…” Hawke said softly. “We must leave. You have to promise me.” 

“I promise.” Fenris said, withdrawing his arm. “It is only an act, Reyna. Remember when they named you champion and expected you at every noble function? They simpered at your feet and you laughed behind your hand and said they’d have called you a turnip months earlier and spat at you, but you played the part. It is only that again, and I am with you now as I was then.” 

Hawke took a deep breath, steeled herself, then took one unsteady step into the marketplace. Fenris followed at a respectful distance, watching as the people scurried from her path. Her head was up, nose in the air, until she arrived at the tailor’s shop. She stopped as he’d instructed her to do, waiting for him to reach and open the door, allowing her to storm into the shop in a flurry of silk. The owner of the shop raced from behind the counter, nearly tripping over the rugs on the floor. 

“Ah! A stunning vision!” He pronounced. “My lady, may I help you?” 

“I find myself surprisingly pleased by your work.” Hawke said haughtily, her bejeweled hands lifting then discarding a fine piece of silk like it cost no more than a copper.

“Yes!” The tailor said, bowing. “This way my lady, please look at my ware…” 

Fenris caught Hawke’s blue eyes in the mirror and she smirked as if to ask if that would do. Fenris nodded, then lowered his eyes, folding himself into a corner as Hawke practiced her imperious demands. 

When they returned to the camp, Oghren was the only one in evidence, passed out and snoring beside Lucia. Hawke grabbed his hand and drug him to the tent, bringing his rough gauntlets to her soft skin under the silk. “I love you.” She whispered desperately. And Fenris nearly shredded the silky things in an effort to pin her under him. 

When they emerged, it was to applause and cheers from Chantal and Zevran. While they waited for the rest of Hawke’s fine wardrobe and the rest of the supplies, Chantal taught patiently. 

“I don’t understand.” Chantal mused, tipping her head to the side as she stared down Hawke, cross legged on the ground before her. “I can see you pulling the mana correctly, but nothing is happening. It’s peculiar.”

“Perhaps her mana knows that her husband does not approve.” Fenris observed. 

“Fuck my husband, I want to be a bird.” Hawke whined. Chantal smiled softly. 

“You’ll get it.” She encouraged. “If I can learn, you can.”

 

With the rest of their supplies purchased and Chantal ready to leave after two weeks assembling her supplies, Hawke shrewdly picked out and purchased a spirited white mare on her last trip to the city, but Fenris had to quietly direct her to a pretty side saddle. She could not quite hide her displeasure as she purchased it, but the stable master had assumed it was the cost and assured her that he was priced as well as he could be for his mounts. 

“I don’t know how to ride this way.” Hawke whispered as he made to help her mount.

“Take it slow.” Fenris guided. “I’ll be on this side.” 

He walked before the mare, guiding Hawke through the market. “Wait!” She said as they passed the food stalls. Fenris nearly tripped over himself as Hawke slipped from the saddle and had to fight the urge to curse her impulsiveness. She adjusted her dress and walked briskly toward the market stalls, stopping in one selling chunks of fish on sticks. Fenris could have gagged as she purchased one. 

“Don’t glare.” Hawke muttered. “It smelled so good.” 

“As you say, Mistress.” Fenris answered, an emphasis on Mistress that made Hawke roll her eyes as he lifted her back into the saddle. She finished the fish as they rode, then tossed the stick into the distance once they were outside the city. 

Upon returning to the camp, most of the supplies already packed away, Hawke tethered the horse to a low tree as she spoke to Chantal. Then she turned, as suddenly as she had in the market and dove into the nearest bush. Fenris could hear the sound of her retching and swore again, pouring water over a wet scrap of plain cotton. 

“You had to eat that fish.” He said scornfully. 

“Never eat fish you don’t catch yourself. It was Alistair’s second lesson to me on life outside the circle.” Chantal said sympathetically, pulling Hawke’s hair clear from her face. 

“What was the first?” Hawke asked, accepting the cloth Fenris handed her and pressing it against her mouth. 

“Don’t get killed by darkspawn.” Chantal grinned. “Very important lesson. Changed my life.” 

Hawke laughed at that, shaking her head. 

 

“I feel like I’ll never see you again.” Chantal said tearfully as they packed the last of their supplies. 

“Of course you will. After the world is done falling apart. You’ll swoop back from the west with the cure for the blight on a griffon, most likely.” Hawke soothed. Chantal laughed. 

“Don’t you know? Swooping is not good.” She answered, kissing Hawke’s cheek. “I would have loved knowing you when we grew up. We’d have had such fun.” 

“You’d have loved Bethany.” Hawke said softly. “Really.” 

“I know I would have. I like Carver too, really!” She added as the skeptical look on Hawke’s face. 

“Be safe.” Fenris said, offering his hand to Zevran. 

“Safety is so boring.” Zevran chuckled, accepting the gesture. “I will bring you back something exotic.” 

“And Anders…” Chantal said, stopping at the dark look Fenris shot her. “I know, but if you get a chance… tell him I’m sorry. Please.” 

“If we get a chance, but I doubt we will. He’s a bit busy being crazy, you know.” And with that, Hawke embraced Chantal one last time. “And I’ll keep working on the bird thing. I’ll get it, I swear.” 

“I know you will.” Chantal smiled. And with that, Fenris helped Hawke onto the side saddle, whistling for Lucia to smile as they exited the clearing. He could feel Chantal’s brown eyes on their backs until they emerged from the trees onto the imperial highway, Vol Dorma behind them, the road to Minrathous before them. 

“Last chance.” Hawke said darkly. “We can call this whole plan madness and do it my way.” 

“Onward.” Fenris ordered, tugging the reins out of her hands. Hawke sighed, adjusting her elaborate braids and bangles as Fenris led the horse forward, Lucia trotting happily at their heels. 


	37. Valammar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maria and Varric enter Valammar with Bianca and learn what she's done.

By the time they arrived at the camp by the base of the entrance to Valammar, it was dark and all of Varric’s aches and pains from the rather long trip to Skyhold had reignited. Unfortunately, that was only about half his problems, because he was relatively certain Dorian and Iron Bull were placing bets on his predicament, and he’d found himself between Maria and Bianca the entire trip.

Bianca had taken the opportunity to, for lack of a better word, interrogate Maria on her entire life story. Unfortunately, Varric knew enough about Bianca to know she was just verifying information she’d already received. Regardless, Maria answered cooly and politely, her face relatively impassive. Josephine would have been proud. 

It was worse when they passed through the crossroads, because the people camped there were ecstatic to see their Inquisitor. The refugees the Inquisition had saved from the war crowded them as soon as they caught sight of Maria. 

“My lady herald!” A child called shyly, beaming as Maria looked and raised her hand. 

“Andraste keep you, Inquisitor!” An old woman croaked. 

“She saved my arse when I got caught between the templars and mages down near Redcliffe’s gates. That big Qunari with her knocked down two templars in full armor!” A young man murmured to his companion. 

“Lady Cadash, thank you for the herbs the inquisition sent. You’ve saved many lives.” The elven healer said as Maria passed. 

“Nobody’s called you knife-ear, have they?” Maria asked, looking the woman in the eye. 

“Not a one, your ladyship, at least not where I can hear ‘em.” The woman grinned. “If they do, I’ve instructions to tell one of your soldiers.” 

“Good.” Maria nodded, “Send requisitions for anything you need to Corporal Vale, he’ll see you get it.” 

“So, is this your day to day, Varric?” Bianca asked quietly, eying the gangly teenager pressing pink wildflowers at Iron Bull. “Stumble into human wars, fight demons, watch her preen for the adoring crowds?” 

“This is hardly preening.” Dorian stated with a wry smile in between waving to the refugees. “When she needs to preen, we send her on the big horse.” 

“Tethras!” Someone shouted, then Scout Ritts was beside him in all her, combing her fingers through her hair and looking delightfully flushed. “I’m sorry… I… Nightingale didn’t send word to expect the Inquisitor.” 

Varric chuckled at the woman. “Don’t worry, Ritts. You haven’t gotten caught with your pants down, this time at any rate. This isn’t quite an official visit.” 

“Oh thank the Maker.” Ritts breathed in relief, shoulders slumping. “I was working, I swear it.” 

“I’m sure you were.” Varric smiled, but not unkindly. “Do us a favor, and see if you can’t send a raven to the camp up by the waterfall. We may have to sleep there tonight.” 

“Of course, Messere. I’ll see to it right away.” Ritts nodded, vanishing back into the crowd, leaving a little girl in her place pushing a blooming sunflower into his hand with a shy smile. 

“To match our lady Herald.” She said, braids bouncing as she took off towards Bull and Dorian. 

“I remember you!” Bull boomed as he took  the child’s flower. “The brave little dragon who was going to chase off the demons all by herself, isn’t it?” 

Bianca had a yellow sunflower in her hand too and she was examining it silently, but Maria was laughing at something a soldier was telling her ahead of them, flower tucked jauntily in her leather bodice. 

“Let us enjoy it, you should have seen what a disaster this place was when we first came.” Varric said smoothly, popping the green stem through his buttonhole. Bianca said nothing, eyes narrowing as the people applauded and Maria, flushed pink, gave a playful bow from her pony. 

 

So, it didn’t exactly shock Varric when Bianca studiously ignored Maria’s offer to get a tent set up for her. With an easy shrug, Maria helped one of the Inquisition soldiers set it up anyway, then perched beside the fire with her reports while Bull cooked something that smelled delicious. 

“Shit…” Maria muttered, rubbing her head. “Something’s gone wrong at Weisshaupt.” 

“What do you mean wrong?” Dorian asked, looking up from his book. “They only had one task, how wrong could it go?” 

“Let me guess, Hawke was in charge?” Bianca asked from where she balanced on a log, fiddling with some spare pieces of metal in her hands, gears from the looks of it. “That sounds typical.” 

This did cause Maria to glare rather pointedly at Bianca as she handed the paper to Varric. “Leliana’s agents on the border got reports of some sort of altercation which led to two mages destroying the bridge to Weisshaupt. The two mages were women, accompanied by a dog, a dwarf, two tattooed elves, and a golem. The whole group seems to have vanished into the wilderness near the Tevinter border. Leliana suspects the other mage was…” 

“Chantal.” Varric laughed in relief. “Whatever trouble they found, between her and Hawke I think they’ll slip it.” 

“Well, Leliana is asking to dedicate some resources toward finding the Hero of Ferelden, since this is the first hint we’ve gotten of where she might be. Do you think Hawke will still be with them?”  Maria asked, already scribbling out an answer. 

“I’m not sure.” Varric answered honestly. “I know… Hawke thought they might try to find Blondie. If they’re that close to Tevinter…” 

“I’ll see if we can spare someone to scour the imperial highway in Tevinter, too.” Maria said reasonably. 

“Your homicidal elf friend should certainly not return to Tevinter.” Dorian sputtered, shutting the book with an audible clap. “He’s… infamous. Don’t get me wrong, nobody particularly mourns that ass Danarius, but he can’t expect to dance around the imperium like everyone has forgotten! The slaves have made songs about him, for the Maker’s sake.” 

Varric nearly spit out the ale he was drinking in shock. “Broody? Songs inspired by  _ Broody _ . Am I dreaming?” 

“Must be a nightmare.” Bianca grumbled. 

“You have to tell me.” Varric was already pulling his journal from his pocket. “Are they odes to his scowl? 

“Odes to his penchant for capturing the hearts of his enemies.” Dorian couldn’t help but smirk. “And then, there are of course the romances where he captures the heart of a foreign noblewoman in a much less literal way.” 

“Bullshit!” Varric called, but he was already scribbling, delighted, and Maria was laughing. “I won’t believe it until you tell me one.” 

“Please do!” Maria implored, setting the reports down. 

“Well, in Minrathous, I was at a tavern near the docks when this old woman started telling the story for coppers.” Dorian started, stretching his arms above his head. “She spun a tale of your lady Hawke reduced to living penniless on the streets due to the machinations of her wicked uncle who stole the family estate from his beloved and dutiful sister. And they certainly play up Hawke’s beauty, her skin pale as moonlight, eyes blue as the Seheron sea on a sunny day, hair black as night…” 

“Well, she’d love that.” Bianca rolled her eyes. “Hawke always loves an admirer.” 

“Hush!” Maria scolded, leaning forward towards Dorian. “Keep going.” 

“So the escaped slave, fresh from throttling a hundred slavers…” Varric laughed, continued to write. “Finds the stunning beauty working for a disgusting mercenary captain who is threatening her virtue. The mercenary captain summarily loses his heart in rather short order and the stunning fallen noble lady pleads for help from the handsome stranger to restore her family to their rightful place.”

“Ah, is this a dirty story?” Bull asked. “I certainly hope it is.” 

“The hero of the story would never take advantage like that! Haven’t you ever read one of these awful romances?” Maria teased. 

“But of course, Fenris helps his lady because not only is she beautiful, but insufferably kind and good as well. The story certainly doesn’t mention her rather inappropriate and awful sense of humor.” Dorian grinned. “And the Lady Hawke falls on her knees in gratitude, asking the hero to name his price. He of course protests that he is no hero, merely an escaped slave. And the lady Hawke, quite dramatically, declares that there are no slaves in the Free Marches and offers him a perfect kiss.” 

“Oh, Hawke will love this.” Varric continued to scribble rapidly. “Eyes blue as the Seheron sea? And they don’t mention that Fenris  _ hated  _ mages, and Hawke is a mage?” 

“Of course they know she’s a mage. To be a mage and a noble is the same thing in Tevinter, they assume it must be so everywhere. But, yes, the beginning of their courtship is much less romantic in your book.” Dorian agreed with a careless shrug. “But then, Hawke is the hero of your book, and Fenris is the hero of the masses in Tevinter.” 

“I’m going to bed.” Bianca declared. “Hopefully I’ll be up before the lot of you and can scope the entrance out.” 

“Sweet dreams!” Maria said as sweetly as possible, causing Dorian to snort quietly. Bianca didn’t even acknowledge it, ducking into the tent that Maria had set up. 

“She’s not a hard one to read, boss.” Bull began quietly. 

“No, I see it too.” Maria agreed. 

“Jealous as a spinster.” Dorian shook his head. “Not just in love, but in everything.” 

“Well, this conversation seems delightful, but…” Varric began. 

“Oh don’t worry. We won’t start talking about you until you go to bed too.” Dorian said innocently. And with that, Varric remained at Maria’s side until she vanished into her ten, yawning. Varric retreated to his and waited. Ten minutes, twenty, until finally he slipped past the scout patrolling and slipped past the silk to Maria’s bedroll. 

She was still awake, a lantern beside her casting a dim glow on the map she was examining. She looked up, confused, when Varric entered. “How long were you planning on waiting before coming over tonight?” He asked, doing back up the tent’s fasteners behind him. 

“I wasn’t. I wasn’t coming.” Maria said, shaking her head to clear her thoughts as he met her eyes with a questioning eyebrow raised. “Shit, Varric, I didn’t want to flaunt you. It’s hard enough not being childish as it is.” 

“Do you think I leave all these buttons undone for no reason? Princess, I am a dwarf that was made to be flaunted.” He grinned as she smiled despite herself. “Besides, I’ve gotten used to your elbow digging into my ribs all night.” 

She tossed a piece of scrap paper at him, hitting him square in the nose and laughing as it bounced off to the ground. He pushed the papers and maps away, pulling her warm curves to his side and pressing his lips to the line of her jaw. She laughed breathlessly, lifting her chin to give him access down the line of her neck. Varric obligingly trailed kisses downward to the soft slope of her shoulder. “She’ll be angry.” Maria warned. 

“It doesn’t matter.” Varric promised. “Nothing else matters, but you.” 

 

The scout woke them in the morning, nervously coughing outside until Maria sharply instructed the man to come in. “In… Inquisitor…” The man gulped, trying not to stare at Varric laying in Maria’s bedroll, eyes closed and pretending to be asleep. “I didn’t… I’m sorry to interrupt.” 

“Calm down.” Maria instructed the poor kid, and he could hear he smiling. “What’s wrong?” 

“Mistress Davri was looking for Master Tethras, but when she couldn’t find him she said she’d head to Vallamar, alone, and wait for him to catch up.” The man stuttered. 

“I’m sure Mistress Davri knew exactly where Varric was, don’t worry.” Maria said with a sigh. “Can you see if Bull or Dorian are awake? And...don’t go into either of their tents, just wait outside.” 

“Yes ma’am.” The lad said, ducking out quickly. 

“Varric, I know this may be a bit paranoid, but Bull’s a bit worried this is all some elaborate trap from a jealous ex. Bianca wouldn’t actually try to kill me, would she?” Maria asked, and when Varric opened his eyes, he saw all she was wearing was a long cotton tunic, legs bare to mid thigh, and she was pulling a brush through her red hair. His eyes trace up the lines of her legs hungrily. 

“Varric. Varric!” Maria snapped her fingers, eyes sparkling. “Important question up here.” 

“Is it a set up? I don’t know, maybe. But she seemed awfully rattled, and she’s too much a researcher to feed us bad information by mistake.” 

“That’s not quite reassuring.” Maria scowled, tapping the brush against her thigh thoughtfully. Then Varric heard a commotion and someone crying out an oath to the Maker. 

“Damnit, I told that kid not to go into their tents.” Maria swore, picking up her breeches and leaning over him, her fingers smoothing his blonde hair back and rubbing against the stubble on his chin. “Get dressed. The sooner your former lover is out of my hair, the better.” 

She grinned at his attempt to make the same noise Cassandra made when she was disgusted with them, kissing him briefly before tugging her pants on and striding out into the brightness of the new day, whistling. 

Right, he thought. Almost done. 

Bianca was waiting inside Vallamar. “Finally!” She scoffed. “I was beginning to think you weren’t coming.” 

“Nobody said you had to wait inside the creepy cave by yourself.” Varric muttered sarcastically.

“Well, I did wait.” Bianca said, tossing her head back. “So let’s make this quick. These idiots are carrying the red lyrium out in unprotected containers. We don’t want to stick around long enough for it to start talking to us.” 

“Oh, shit.” Maria said, “How has it not exploded yet?” 

“Wait, exploded? Boss, you didn’t say anything about exploding.” Iron Bull interrupted. 

“Of course, a lyrium smuggler would know how dangerous raw lyrium is.” Bianca rolled her eyes. 

“Well, it’s not like we’re slinging it into buckets.” Maria countered. “But, yeah, it’s been known to poison dwarves and just randomly explode. That’s not even the red shit.” 

“And Varric asked you to help contain it? That’s how you know so much about the red lyrium?” Dorian questioned. 

“I’ve used this entrance myself to get to the thaig. I was...shocked to find it crawling with humans.” Bianca admitted. 

“I do hope you can handle yourself in a fight.” Maria said cheerfully to Bianca. 

“I thought I’d cower helplessly while you did all the work. Isn’t that what one hires Carta muscle for?” Bianca snipped. 

“She’s a decent shot.”  Varric said. 

“Decent?” Bianca questioned. “Better than you. Don’t want to admit that in front of the Inquisitor?” She asked snidely. 

“Ah, five silvers for you, Bull.” Dorian huffed. “I thought we’d at least make it across the bridge before they started.”

Maria stiffled a laugh. “Let’s just get started, shall we?” Bianca asked icily. Maria gestured to her to lead the way. 

Of course, the first thing they did was stumble headfirst into darkspawn, damn near literally. Bianca was in such a rush, she didn’t check before rounding the corner and Maria pulled her back from a hurlock’s axe blade, leaving both of them off balance and on the floor and Iron Bull neatly stepped over them and decapitated the growling creature. 

“Have I mentioned I hate caves?” Varric asked. 

“Will you fucking get off of me!” Maria swore, shoving Bianca away and sitting up quickly.

“You pushed me!” Bianca accused. 

“I should have pushed you into the damn blade instead of…” Maria began. 

“Ladies.” Dorian said easily. “You’re both astonishingly pretty. For dwarves.” 

It would have been comical, if it wasn’t so terrifying, that both women’s eyes glinted murderously towards Dorian before Maria took the lead, grumbling about idiotic deshyrs ruining simple jobs. 

“Think she counts you in that?” Bianca asked. 

“Well, I’ve yet to nearly walk into a hurlock, so…” Varric trailed off, shrugging. “What’s got you so spooked, anyhow? Not like you to be so careless.” 

“I just want to get this over with. I have things to do.” Bianca said coldly. Varric shrugged.

When they arrived at a large door, Maria stopped, puzzled and Bianca pushed past. “I built this to keep rivals from following me down here and arranging a little accident. They must have sealed it from the other side when they heard the ruckus with the darkspawn.” 

“I can’t imagine who would be tempted to do that, you’re so very charming.” Maria quipped. 

“See, now you sound just like Hawke. There!” The door swung open soundlessly on it’s hinges. “Ta-da!” 

“Heard you were a clever smith, your husband’s trying to get them to name you a paragon, isn’t he?” Maria asked innocently. Varric winced.

“It’ll never happen, as you well know. Even if I am ten times the smith Branka was. A surfacer paragon? Orzammar would choke on it.” Bianca said. “Muscle first.” 

“Gladly.” Maria sniffed, gliding past.  

“I suppose asking the two of you to stop would be hopeless?” Varric sighed. Neither woman responded, both ignoring him. “Right, maybe I’ll get lucky and someone will shoot me.” 

“Don’t ask for that.” Dorian advised. “They both have bows and I’m too pretty to die defending you.” 

Luckily, the next room was full of a mob of smugglers, and they were too busy not dying to continue their argument. When the last corpse fell, Bianca rushed forward, grabbing a key off the table. “There you are!” She sighed, relieved, kneeling beside the open door and slamming it shut, locking it. “They won’t be using this entrance again.” 

“Bianca…” Varric started, staring at the key in her hand. Iron Bull grunted, shaking his head, and Maria crossed her arms over her chest. “Andraste’s ass, Bianca. You leaked the location.” 

“When you told me about the thaig I… I came down here myself and had a look.” Bianca admitted. “And… well I started to study the red lyrium.” 

“You know what it does to people!” Varric shouted. “Bianca, it drove Bartrand mad and he nearly killed me! You knew that! And then Meredith, for the love of…” 

“I was doing you a favor!” Bianca defended herself. “You wanted to figure out why it affected Bartrand so strongly. I just wanted to figure it out.” 

“That seems stupid.” Maria said dryly. “The kind of stupid decision I’m coming to expect from you, honestly.” 

“I did figure it out! Red lyrium - it has the blight! Do you know what that means, Varric?” Bianca reached out, grabbing his arm. Varric wrenched it out of her grip so suddenly her eyes went wide. 

“Two awful things combine to make an even worse thing?” He asked. 

“It means lyrium is  _ alive _ , the blight doesn’t affect minerals, only plants and animals. I couldn’t get any farther on my own, so I sought out a Grey Warden mage.” Bianca continued. 

“Oh, shit, this is going nowhere great.” Iron Bull commented. 

“I found someone named Larius, he seemed really interested and helpful so I gave him a key. I didn’t realize until I heard about the red lyrium at the temple, but then I couldn’t get near this place on my own. So I came to you.” 

“You put this on us, to fix your mistake.” Maria added. “Lovely.” 

“I know I screwed up, but we fixed it. It’s as right as I can make it.” Bianca pleaded. 

“This isn’t one of your damn machines! You can’t just fix a part and make everything better!” Varric fought the urge to shake her. 

“Varric…” Bianca said softly. 

“Of course.” A new voice broke in behind them. “That’s not the only reason you gave out your key.” 

It was Maria’s turn to swear, turning to look at Beatrix’s figure in the doorway, leaning against the wall. She looked...exhausted, circles under her eyes and hair a frazzled mess. “For fuck’s sake, Bea, can I not be tasked with handling my own life?” Maria asked. 

“Honestly, you’re doing quite fine. But I’m not going to let her lie to you.” Beatrix said. “Nanna sent me to figure out why she’d shown up, and I thought it was ridiculous, but I went.” She uncrossed her arms, pulling some papers from her pack. “Glad I did, though. Nanna has a nose for conspiracy.” 

“Where did you get those you thieving…” Bianca had stepped forward, but was stopped by Maria’s arm thrown out in front of her. 

“I’d be careful about the next word you call my baby sister.” Maria said mildly. 

“She sold the key to that Warden because her husband’s got her in debt up to her ears.” Beatrix sighed, shrugging. “Sorry he’s an ass, but people have died. People have almost died. Including me and my sister and Varric.” 

“And what else?” Bianca hissed. “What else did you find in your snooping?” 

“Nothing relevant.” Beatrix said, pushing the papers not into Maria’s hands, but Varric’s. She nodded as he took them, then pulled Maria away. “Let him do this.” She said gently. “I’ll tell you about the one armed whore I found in Nevarra.” 

Maria looked doubtfully between Varric and Bianca, but when Varric nodded, she pulled away, allowed Beatrix to lead her out. Bianca swayed, furious and pale, staring at their retreating backs. 

“I’ll send Dorian with them and wait for you upstairs, Varric.” Bull offered, following the women out. Dorian smiled wanly, and then there was silence. 

“You sold me out. Never thought I’d see the day.” Varric said, unrolling the papers he’d been given. Accounts, littered with Bianca’s neat handwriting and smudges of tears where she’d crossed through lines of ink. “Gambling, huh? Why didn’t you come to me?” 

“And ask you and your precious Hawke for money?” Bianca spat. “I’d rather die.” 

“You were going to lose your forge, your whole operation.” Varric said shrewdly. “And you’d have rather died than ask me to send you money?” 

“It’s your fault!” Bianca shrieked, and Varric took a startled step back. “But of course you get your happily ever after and I have to deal with the consequences!”

“What in the Maker’s name are you rambling on about?” Varric asked reproachfully. 

“He doesn’t love me, he’s never loved me! Didn’t even want to try after I stood him up at that first wedding. But he loves money, and Maker can I make it. I can make everything, except…” And with that, tears slid down Bianca’s cheeks and she closed her eyes, gritting her teeth. “The only thing he wants from me, a child, and I can’t make one. I’ve tried, I’ve got a string of dead babies a mile long. For all I know, some of them are yours, but I can’t make a live one. So I’m alone, and he gambles away my fortune and I can’t do anything about it because he’s my husband! And he doesn’t even love me because of you! I have nothing and it is your fault. I wish I’d never have met you, you ruined my life.” 

The poison burned, crawling into his ears, sending sharp shocks across his heart. He rolled the parchment back up, placed them on the ground in front of him. Bianca’s eyes were closed, hands curled into trembling fists. “You should have come with me when we had a chance, but you didn’t want to…” 

“Leave my whole world behind for you.” Bianca finished. “And you’ve never stopped blaming me, but I kept you alive, and you should be grateful.” 

“You should have told me. About the babies, about the lyrium, all of it.” Varric said. 

“What good would it have done?” And when she opened her eyes, they were cold as ice. “You get the Inquisitor, and she’ll kill you as surely as she killed her last lover. Guess that’s what you wanted all along.” 


	38. The Long Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke and Fenris travel towards Minrathous. Fenris is recognized.

The imperial highway as as dusty as Fenris remembered it, but well-maintained. When they passed the first crew of slaves laboring over replacing broken paving stones, Hawke had looked at him with a raised eyebrow. “Servus publicus.” He answered her unasked question. “Imperium owned slaves.” 

Hawke wrinkled her nose, but she continued to look unflinchingly at the slaves, marking the details for herself. Skin stretched taut over rib cages, eyes dull as they hefted the stones. Water was passed sparingly between them, taken gratefully. Above them all, one bored looking mage supervised with both a whip and staff. When one elderly man fell, he was left in the dust and Fenris had to press himself tight to Hawke’s side to prevent her from jumping from the mare. When they left the crew behind them, Fenris looked up in time just to see Hawke wipe one tear from her cheek. “There is nothing to be done for them, Reyna. We are only two in a hostile land.” He said softly. “I refuse to risk your life on a fool’s errand.” 

“Somebody needs to do something.” Hawke’s voice was raspy, and he gripped the water skin from the saddle and handed it up to her patiently until she took it. Hawke closed her eyes as she drank, rubbing her forehead and staring darkly up the long road. “I knew it would be bad, but this…” 

“It is atrocious, but we will endure.” Fenris said, taking the skin and looking in all directions before sipping from it himself. “The road will become more crowded as the hour grows later. Are you prepared?” 

“As I’ll ever be.” Hawke said, opening her beautiful blue eyes.

The sun was halfway to the center of the sky when traffic began to flood the roads from all directions. Cheerful browned skin farmers tugging children and produce along and a troupe of bards singing and strumming for coppers passed them going towards Minrathous. A caravan of dwarven merchants were heading past them back to Vol Dorma. Hawke had actually called out to one of the farmer’s wives and created a momentary panic in the crowd and within Fenris before she simply asked if she could have an apple. The farmer’s wife had, with several awkward curtsies, passed the apple along and Hawke gave the woman a silver and a sunny smile. Fenris could have groaned, guiding the mare to the side of the road where he could not be observed. “Hawke.” He said as menacing as he could in a whisper. 

She hid her mouth behind her sleeve so the other travelers couldn’t see her mischievous grin. “You’re not about to tell me Magisters never eat, are you?” 

“Magisters do not politely ask for apples from the carts of peasants.” Fenris tried to sound even, but even he couldn’t help the small quirk of his lips as Hawke sat straighter, looking as pleased as a cat in cream.

“Well, you can take the turnip out of Ferelden…” she muttered, then offered the fruit to him. Fenris could see the white flesh where she’d already taken several bites, the red skin as tempting as the sheets had been in Hawke’s mansion in Kirkwall. Red, he thought fondly, Hawke always looked like a vision in red. It’s why he’d chosen the scarlet silk she wore today, perhaps he would even be able to talk her into keeping it. 

“You know you want some too.” Hawke whispered gently. “Take the rest.” 

Smiling to himself, he bit into the juicy red skin and tasted summer on his tongue, licking the juice from his lips. “Delicious, right?” Hawke asked, eyes sparkling. “I swear I could smell how good it would taste.” 

Praying they would go through the entire day unmolested was a foolish hope, after mid day another altus brought his steed up along Hawke, stirring up a cloud of dust that caused her to sneeze and pull the silk of her sleeves up to her mouth. 

“Ah! I should be whipped!” The man said with a beaming grin. “For causing such a beautiful lady to hide her face, if nothing else.” He stood in his stirrups and gave a cocky and arrogant bow. “Lord Sephus, heir of House Tidarion, my lady.” 

Fenris scanned through his, not inconsequential but a tad outdated, knowledge. Tidarion was a middling house, of no great deed but always managing to be on the best side. He could recall nothing of note about any of its members, least of all the heir. Regardless, he held his breath as Hawke pulled the silk from her face with an elegant incline of her head. 

“Livia.” Her tone was careful, the accent almost perfect. Thank the maker for Hawke’s natural mimicry skills. “Lady Livia of House Mareno. Alas, I am neither the heir or the spare.” 

Perfect, Fenris thought as he kept his head low. He’d picked that family for one very good reason - Magister Mareno was infamous for having a child every year and being on his third wife. In fact, he’d also fathered several sets of twins. The imperium was torn between believing him unnaturally fruitful or suspecting some ancient blood magic. Fenris had heard Danarius bemoan keeping the large family straight more than once.

Lord Sephus roared as if Hawke had something extremely clever, tossing his dark head back. “Of course! One of the innumerable Mareno siblings. You know, my father was discussing a match with one of your sisters. Araina, I believe? Is she as pretty as you are?” 

“I can hardly be expected to be unbiased, can I?” Hawke deflected. “It’s a rare woman who would say another is more beautiful than herself.” 

“But I thought I had found a rare woman, indeed! Those eyes of yours - how unique.” The man fawned, moving his horse closer and Fenris fought the urge to growl posessively. “What brings you to the highway unaccompanied by more than one elf? Surely, many would have offered to accompany you.” 

Hawke took a deep breath, then recited the practiced story. “My sister is expecting her first child, I promised to be with her but we received word the babe is coming early. I had no time to tarry, the rest of my escort will follow behind. I must make haste to Minathous.” 

“Such devotion to a sister, how dear.” The man said slowly, his voice lingering like a caress. Fenris could not help himself, he looked up. The man’s blazing eyes were on Hawke like a gaping fish on a hook. “Perhaps…” 

There was a squeak, a slight thing, but Fenris turned to it immediately. A lad was walking beside the other man’s horse and staring at Fenris, eyes wide with disbelief. The child’s eyes swung back to Hawke, then back to Fenris and the sword strapped to his back like a puppets. The man on the horse continued as if it were nothing, gently taking Hawke’s hand in his own even as her spine stiffened. 

“I could convince you to detour to Asaric with me? We could send you on one of my family’s pleasure boats tomorrow and it would only add a day to your journey. I’d more than make up for the delay with my company.” The man’s voice was sultry with promises, but Fenris was now more concerned about the alarmed looking child. 

“Mistress.” Fenris said. Hawke took a second before she responded, jerking to turn her face from the man and look at him with eyes that were half shocked and half horrified. “I know changing your journey is impossible, but may I ask for a rest for the horse? I will serve you a mid-day meal with the gentleman if you would like.” 

“I will happily take the chance to convince you to change your plans.” The man said with a saucy wink at Fenris’s hooded figure. “He’s a good man, you have there. Perhaps I will someday get to show him my gratitude. My lad will help your slave, and I can assist you with dismounting.” With snapped fingers, the child took the horse’s reins as the man swooped down, offering his arms to Hawke. Hawke stiffened, but didn’t look at Fenris, allowing the man to slip his broad hands around her waist. He kept his hand there as he guided Hawke to a space off the main road, grass sparsely covering the ground. Fenris followed with a blanket that he laid neatly down. He spared just a moment to smile reassuringly at Hawke as the man guided her to sit down. Keep him occupied, he thought. Distract him. 

But Hawke was good at reading his moods, better perhaps than Fenris was himself. Her eyes flicked to the nervous looking lad and back to Fenris too quickly for the other man to notice, then she smiled and it was only a bit tense at the corners. “Bring me the flask of wine and the lunch that was packed, I shall serve Lord Tidarion myself so we can speak in private.” Hawke ordered, then turned sympathetically to the Lord, “I’m so sorry for the state of our food, I was not planning to host someone of your status. Our wine is most excellent.” 

“I’m sure any deficits will be covered up by my charming hostess.” The man answered, enthralled. Fenris turned, pinning the child in his glare as he dug through Hawke’s saddle bag, unwrapping a loaf of bread and cheese with some dried plums. With practiced movements, he arranged them in a pleasant flower shape and returned, depositing them at Hawke’s knees with a bow. Hawke’s fingers shook as she took it and the flask, but her smile didn’t flicker as the man bragged of his family estate. 

When Fenris returned to the child, he dragged the young boy behind the horses and trees. The lad was an elf, and young. Sandy brown hair was shaggy, but he appeared well fed. “It’s you.” The boy said, awed. “It really is.” 

“It is not.” Fenris interjected, but the boy continued in his fast whisper.

“Lupus in fabula.” The child breathed. “My friends said you were a myth.” 

“The wolf in the story?” Fenris translated. The child nodded, all wide eyes. 

“The magisters say it is bad luck to speak your name.” He whispered. “And turn your wrath on them, so they call you the wolf in the story. And that’s  _ her _ , isn’t it? Your lady? She’s got eyes too kind to be a magister.” 

“Silence.” Fenris warned archly, taking a breath in the silence and straining his ears to listen to Hawke being regaled about some foolish joyride through Minrathous. He sighed. “I admit, I thought she would have us found out first.” He couldn’t quite keep the grudge from his voice.

“No!” The child placated. “I couldn’t turn you in! I wouldn’t! It would be like putting Andraste on the pyre. Your secret's safe, but where are you going? Are you here to kill the Archon?” The lad asked, bright eyed. 

“Much less exciting, I fear. We seek a… person from my past in Minrathous. They may be in danger.” Fenris admitted. “How well am I known?” 

“Across all of Tevinter, ser!” The child protested quietly. “They say you and your lady mage left her home to hunt slavers and that someday you will gather a great force of warriors and mages from the south and return to free us all and crush the magisters into dust.” 

Fenris was stunned into silence, staring into the earnest child’s face. Then he felt a light, familiar touch on his shoulder. “So…” Hawke began softly. “I may have slipped enough Valerian powder into his wine to fell a druffalo, but I find I can’t be particularly ashamed. He said he needed a moment to rest his eyes, but he’ll be out until late afternoon.”

“Hawke…” Fenris groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You couldn’t just keep up the charade?” 

“No.” She answered stubbornly, pushing past him and settling onto her haunches to inspect the young child. He blushed and looked at the ground, peeking through his eyelashes up at her. She smiled sweetly, pulling a honey cake from her bag and handing it to him. “Will you be in trouble?” She asked. 

“No.” The lad answered, fingers reaching disbelievingly to the cake. “He’s not a hard master. Momma says we’re lucky. Is that really for me?”

“Of course it is! Whats your name?” Hawke asked, dumping the sticky mess of flour and honey into his hands.

“Davon, my lady.” The child answered shyly. “Thank you.”  

“Now, what’s the problem?” Hawke asked, licking her own fingers clean as she turned to Fenris with her quick blue eyes.  

“I am...more known than I had hoped. I was recognized by this child...”

“Davon.” Hawke corrected with a wink at the boy. He beamed even brighter up at her. 

“Davon.” Fenris sighed. “There are...stories circulating of our exploits.” 

“Did he really save you from a hundred slavers once?” The boy asked Hawke. Fenris scoffed. 

“It was a hundred and two, I counted.” Hawke lied with a smile. “He carried me out like a princess.” 

“I knew it!” The boy crowed. “Wait till I tell…” 

“Ah… can we ask for a favor?” Hawke asked, her eyes meeting the boys. “We’re trying, very hard, to make it to Minrathous and save someone and slay a very evil man. I’m frightened that if they know we’re coming, they’ll our friends.” Hawke said gently. “We must be secret, for awhile longer. Can you do that for us?” 

“Anything for you, my lady.” The child gave a mock bow and Hawke giggled. 

“Is there anything ahead that we should avoid?” Fenris asked. The child’s eyes lit up. 

“No! But you should stop at Matrona’s. It’s an inn called the Roaming Mage. Matrona Jullex was a slave, but her owner freed her and married her, now she runs the inn. She helps slaves escape from cruel masters, mamma says.” The child offered. 

“Thank you.” Hawke said, then stopped, struggling. “Would...would you like to leave with us?” 

“My lady…” The boy said, tears filling his eyes as he lifted his chin. “Mamma has three babes and I’m the eldest. Papa died of a fever last year and I’m the only one she counts on. I can’t leave her.” 

“I’m sorry.” Hawke said softly. “I wish…” 

“Hawke…” Fenris said, offering his hand. “It is no good to make the boy doubt.” 

“Thank you, Ser.” The boy nodded, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. “I’ll tell Master you waited for awhile, but had to leave.” 

“Thank you.” Hawke said gently, leaning down to place a chaste kiss on the boy’s forehead. “You’re a brave little man.” 

“I’ll be waiting, my lady. When the wolf returns and lays waste to the Magisters, I’ll be older and I’ll be waiting.” The boy said, eyes burning. “I will.” 

 

The Roaming Mage was small, but clean, and the proprietress didn’t blink when Hawke presented herself. The Matrona led them to a room and a girl who looked just like a younger version of her took the horse to the stables. “Shall I get a room for your man, my lady?” The woman asked as she opened up the cozy room. 

“No.” Hawke said, startled. “No… I…” 

“A pallet for the floor would be sufficient.” Fenris interrupted even though it made the woman’s brow raise almost into the thick gray curls piled on her head and she retrieved the sagging pallet from a hall closet and handed it to Fenris. She shrugged and left them at the door and as soon as it clicked shut, Hawke immediately relieved Fenris of the heavy burdens of the pallet and bags, then threw them of the floor and crawled into the bed. 

“I want to go home.” She mumbled into the thin, soft blankets. “I hate it here.” 

Fenris shrugged out of the two warm cloak, unclasping buckles deftly holding his chainmail in place before discarding it as well. His chest bare, he sat beside her on the bed, running his fingertips lightly up the back of her neck. He… didn’t know what to say. To him, it was almost pathetically and infuriatingly easy to accept this as how the Imperium was, how it always had been and always would be. But Hawke...his heart clenched as tight as a fist and his fingers stopped for the briefest of second before continuing. Hawke was free, always had been free, joyously free. Never once, even knowing he could have turned her into the Gallows at any time, could he have pictured Hawke caged and bound. 

_ They had argued about her release of the elven boy, her insistence on accompanying him to the Dalish. He had raged and thrown bottles and she had stood there like a stone, hands on her hips, countering his every argument, pleading for mercy and civility like she knew the first thing about them. He had thrown the last bottle and had come heart wrenchingly close to actually hitting her head, crushing her skull beneath that fine silken dark hair, but she hadn't flinched. Instead, her own temper had flared and she had begun cursing him as the most stubborn ass to have ever walked Thedas. He had roared at her to get out, calling her every insult in Tevene and common he could think of until finally she sighed and turned on her heel, and left.  _

_ The mansion was colder without her laugh. Darker without her bright eyes. He noticed it as soon as she was gone, and it terrified him. So he practiced the same training routines Danarius had demanded to keep himself in perfect form, he drank and tossed the broken bottles into the fire or against the walls. He chased away the blood mage with threats when she brought him food, refused to answer the door when Aveline pounded her fist against it hard enough to rattle the walls, shoved Isabela outside when he caught her poking around, and he waited. She always came back, sure as the sun rose in the morning. She would come with sweet cakes and they would not talk about it and she would ask for his help. He waited one day, then two. On the third day, when she didn’t come, he began to worry she would not come. On the fourth, he went looking for her.  _

_ She was not at the Hanged Man, but Varric was. He had received a note from her two days prior saying she’d be gone, but without further explanation. For Varric, that was sufficient. It was not sufficient for Fenris and when the dwarf proved incapable of answering any of his questions (or, in fact, incapable of being sarcastic and flippant) Fenris had stormed out and went to Hawke’s home.  _

_ The worst was that no one was at the hovel in Lowtown that the Hawke’s called home. No dog, no Carver, no Leandra, no Gamlen. Across the street, a door was off its hinges and a window was broken. The neighborhood was uncharacteristically quiet and those that passed him glared suspiciously. Something like dread prickled at his spine.  _

_ Aveline was not at the Viscounts, Merrill was in the alienage but the daft woman hadn’t even noticed Hawke and her whole family were missing. Isabela shrugged nonchalantly and said she was sure that Hawke was fine and that if he was feeling lonely, she’d be more than happy to keep him company. Finally, with great reluctance, he made the journey into the dank filth of darktown, fighting the urge to retch at the smell. The lamp was on outside the clinic, so Fenris pushed in. The abomination turned, blonde hair loose and wearing nothing but a loose cotton shirt over worn breeches.  _

_ “Now what have I done to be granted this pleasure?” The man asked almost rakishly, leaning against the table. “It must be my birthday.”  _

_ “Hawke is missing.” Fenris growled. “Is it your doing, mage?”  _

_ “Perhaps it is.” Anders smirked. “Perhaps templars dragged a woman right out of the house across the street from Gamlen’s and Hawke felt it prudent to disappear for a bit. If she did, it would surely be the business of Hawke and whoever she asked for help, wouldn’t it?”  _

_ “If you do not answer the question, I swear I will…” Fenris began.  _

_ “Do what? Turn on me like a wild animal?” Anders challenged. “I’d say it would be unexpected, but… well it wouldn’t. You know, I’m not sure you didn’t send the templars. I wouldn’t put it past someone as biased and…”  _

_ With that, Fenris fist lashed out and shoved the man backwards, clutching his shirt in his gauntleted hand. Fenris felt the familiar pull of mana, but then the back door burst open.  _

_ Hawke was wearing a tunic, so large it must have been one of Carver’s hand-offs. One shoulder was bare and the fabric came almost to her knees. Her dark hair was loose and ruffled like she’d just woken. Her blue eyes flicked between the two men and summed up the situation. “You know…” She drawled smugly, leaning on the door frame, legs crossed at the knees. “If you’re going to fight, I think you should both be naked. It’ll give me a hell of a story for Isabela.”  _

_ “Hawke.” Fenris loosened his hold on Anders and the man slipped away, scowling. It occurred to him that she was most likely bare beneath that long shirt, void of small clothes and all warm skin that was so soft and smelled so good. He pictured slamming her against the door jamb, pinning her arms above her head and… _

_ “For you sweetheart, I may consider it.” Anders said, smiling winningly. Hawke rolled her blue eyes, but smiled regardless. Then a dagger plunged into Fenris’s heart. Hawke had been in the back room where the abomination slept, dressed indecently, and had been there for days. The mage was the one who had been enjoying her scent, her beautiful lips, drawing out all sorts of sinful sounds from her mouth. He scowled darkly at Hawke and her smile dropped, brows knitting together in confusion.  _

_ “Fasta vass.” Fenris cursed. “Where have you been? It is inconvenient to spend all day scouring Kirkwall for you.”  _

_ “I sent you a note.” Hawke said. “With the one I sent to Varric, Anders you said…”  _

_ The mage wasn’t quick enough to hide his guilt, which was a small relief because it saved Fenris from having to admit his ignorance of letters in front of her. Anders looked down, swallowing. “I couldn’t risk it, not when it may have been him who sent the Templars.”  _

_ “Andraste’s ass, Anders! I told you it wasn’t!” Hawke exclaimed, hands on her hips, before turning to Fenris. “I’m sorry, I tried to send you a note.”  _

_ “Through a reliable source, I see.” Fenris remarked dryly.  _

_ Hawke threw her arms up in resignation, disappearing back into the room. He could hear shuffling, the ruffle of fabric. “You know what, thanks Anders, but I think I’m tired of Darktown. I need some sunlight.” She said cheerfully. “I’ll head to the Hanged Man and stay with Varric, but I’m sure if Mother and Carver haven’t heard anything from hanging around the Gallows all day for two days, they’re not going to and I can go home.”  _

_ “Hawke, you don’t have to leave. It’s safe here.” Anders reassured. “You know I won’t let…”  _

_ “I know.” Hawke emerged, pulling her hair into a ponytail and swinging both her staff and her bag behind her back, leather breeches hugging her hips and a blue shirt emphasizing her form. She tapped Anders gently on the cheek as she passed. “But you need to trust me too, Anders. I know what I’m doing.”  _

_ “I remain unconvinced.” Fenris chimed in, which caused Hawke to simply laugh and Anders to scowl even more deeply. “I will escort you to the Hanged Man.”  _

_ “Completely unnecessary, but don’t let me stop you.” Hawke said, waving jauntily at Anders as she exited the clinic. Fenris followed at her side, he would never walk behind a mage again as long as he could help it. Hawke was whistling joyfully.  _

_ “He is dangerous and untrustworthy.” Fenris said, interrupting her whistle.  _

_ “He says the same about you.” Hawke answered, then stopped, shoving her hands into her pockets and looking at the dirt beneath their boots. “I did try to send you a note, Fenris. I knew you’d be worried.”  _

_ “I did not betray you. I would not.” Fenris said. “Not while I owed you a debt.”  _

_ Hawke’s smile was...almost sad. “Or perhaps it is because I’m a friend?” She asked softly.  _

_ The words were too much for Fenris’s mouth, too heavy and too free. He couldn’t make his mouth form the words, so he asked another question instead. “You slept in his bed?” He couldn’t keep the accusation from his tone. Hawke laughed, tipping her head back in joyful abandon.  _

_ “I did.” She replied, smirking. “He slept on a cot in the clinic. Completely chaste.”  _

_ “I doubt he thinks of you chastely.” Fenris muttered darkly.  _

_ “Oh? Do you have lots of experience with impure thoughts of me?” Hawke needled mercilessly.  _

_ “Enough.” Fenris groaned. “I will not be pulled into these… juvenile games.” Fenris pleaded.  _

_ “Suit yourself.” Hawke grinned, taking his elbow and threading her fingers through it and he noted how careful she was to avoid touching his skin. His heart swelled, and he could smell her sweet scent of vanilla in her hair. Anders would have that scent all over his bed, but he wouldn’t have her. That thought made Fenris… rather more joyous than he ought to be.  _

“What are you thinking?” Hawke asked, voice no longer muffled. She had turned her head and was peering up at him through the fringe of her lashes. 

“I am… happy that you are by my side. I could not do this without you.” Fenris admitted. “You remind me… that you are free. And so am I.” 

Hawke smiled, slow and lazy, satisfied. He brushed back her hair from her face, a low chuckle rumbling in his throat. “That man was correct, you are beautiful.” 

“You should have seen me ten years ago.” Hawke joked, then laughed as he flipped her over and pressed his lips to hers to silence her jests. 


	39. Liberation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bianca leaves with some last biting words. Varric and Maria examine freedom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end is 100% NSFW and a long time overdue. Enjoy!

_ The Liberator, Shartan, drew the blade at his side _ __   
_ And charged the pyre, the freedom of the Prophet before his eyes _ __   
_ But from the legion came a storm of arrows _ __   
_ Blacker than night. And the disciple who had fought side by side _ __   
_ With the lady fell, along with a hundred of his People. _ __   
_ And among the Alamarri ten thousand swords fell to the ground in a chorus of defeat. _ _   
_ __ The Chant of Light, Apotheosis 2:4

 

Bianca glared at Varric, red mottling her cheeks, hood pushed back to reveal her blonde curls. Her words echoed in the silence, reverberating against years of barely healed wounds and scars that ran deep. The author in Varric noted every detail, the pounding of his heart, the glint of guttering torchlight in Bianca’s eyes. 

“Damnit, Bianca, the only thing I ever wanted was you.” Varric finally said, pressing his palm against his forehead. “Nothing else mattered. I’d have...shit, you know this. You have to know this.” 

“And if I asked you to leave with me right now, would you?” She asked. “If I said leave Hawke, leave your Inquisitor and your noble causes, and leave with me, would you? If I said I was ready now?” 

There are moments where a story can take two different directions. If Bianca had joined him on the docks, if the Hero of Ferelden and Alistair had spared Loghain, if Hawke had died in her sister’s place while fleeing Lothering, if Beatrix Cadash had been at the Conclave instead of her sister, the stories would be completely different. And Varric knew he was about to close one story, and choose another. 

“No.” And when the word left his lips, a weight fell from his heart even as tears gathered in Bianca’s eyes. Perhaps, Varric thought wildly, this was how Broody felt when he slipped his chains the first time. Or maybe how he felt the moment he choose to return to Hawke, a free man in mind and body. Free. And yet, a part of him panicked at the weightlessness, scrambling at uncertain ground. 

But Hawke had heard him humming a different song from the one he had hummed for years. Varric knew now that it wasn’t Bianca’s song anymore. It hadn’t been since the moment Maria Cadash had emerged from the ashes of Haven like Andraste herself. Impossible, improbable, miraculous, and real despite it all. 

“Good.” Bianca stooped to pick the papers from the floor. “I hope you ruin her life too, then turn it into a story about how it should have been. Isn’t that what you do best?” 

“Maybe. But one can make a convincing argument that falling out of a hole in the sky already effectively ruined her life.” Varric couldn’t stop the sarcasm. “You know what Hawke told me, right after we had to leave Kirkwall with little more than the shirts on our backs? She told me, in the end, you’re alone with your decisions. She lost everything in that city. She didn’t stop the monster that murdered her mother, she condemned her brother to a short  and brutal life rather than see him die in the deep roads, one of her best friends killed hundreds and started a war that probably killed thousands right under her nose, and she fled into the night like a fugitive after trying her damnedest to save the whole sinking ship. She took responsibility for the whole mess, even the parts that weren’t her fault.” Varric sighed, shaking his head. “And she kept going, even when it was hard, even when the misery and responsibility nearly broke her, she kept going. And she loves that damned elf with her whole heart.” 

“So, once again, I fail to live up to Hawke.” Bianca’s voice was laced with venom. 

“She choose to play the cards she was dealt in a way that made her happy. She refused to play by someone else’s rules. She didn’t let loss and grief twist her into...this.” He stretched his arms wide, taking in the locked door, the tension between the two of them, Bianca’s scowl. “I won’t let it twist me either, Bianca. I won’t bury my head in the sand and hide in Kirkwall waiting for someone else to fix the world. I won’t abandon Maria. I’m not the same man I was, and you’re not the same person you were. We can’t go back.”

“You love her.” Bianca laughed harshly, shaking her head. “Well, consider yourself free.” 

Free, Varric thought as Bianca pushed past him with tears streaming down her cheeks. We are free when we choose our burdens, he added ruefully as he turned and followed her out. 

 

Iron Bull was waiting a rather discreet distance away and he clapped a hand the size of a dinner plate on Varric’s shoulder. “Women.” He said in a tone that brooked easy commiseration. It was amazing the awe, horror, affection, and humor that were woven all throughout that one word. 

“Women.” Varric repeated. “Just maybe it’s not them, maybe it’s us.” 

“Oh, it most certainly is us.” Bull replied cheerfully. “They like us that way though. All women like a good challenge.”

“That’s… good actually. I should use that for a book.” Varric admitted as they made their way to the entrance. 

“I get credit, right?” Bull asked suspiciously. “And royalties.” 

Varric laughed, a sound that echoed hollowly in the caves. “Of course Tiny. Wouldn’t dream of anything else.” 

Outside, Maria and Beatrix was gone and Dorian was swirling patterns of ice into the waterfall as it flowed. He looked up as they appeared, standing and stretching. “I assume, by the pace of your dwarven lady friend, we won’t be seeing her again?” 

“Unlikely, sparkler. Where’s…?” Varric began. 

“At the camp, Beatrix is dead on her feet after traveling nonstop for days. I imagine that the epic romance between the Inquisitor and the storyteller will be continuing?” Dorian pressed. 

“How many times do I have to tell you? I won’t kiss and tell.” Varric chuckled as they picked their way down the slick stone path and back to the fluttering banners of the inquisition camp. 

Maria was resting away from the tents, her back pressed up against the stone and a familiar book in her hands. The Tale of the Champion, open to an illustration of the old Kirkwall gang. The artist had been a Kirkwall native, thank Andraste, and familiar enough with the gang of misfits and their locales of choice. The illustration Maria was examining was of a Wicked Grace game, Varric himself presiding over the head of the table, Hawke’s boots on its surface and chair tipped precariously back, Fenris drinking from a bottle of wine on her right and Anders glaring on her left. Isabela was dangling on Merrill’s lap and Sebastian was trying his best not to stare. 

“They didn’t do you justice. Your nose isn’t quite that broken.” Maria said as he approached, although she didn’t look up. 

“I can’t ever find anyone to do me justice. Maybe I’ll do better when I hire someone to illustrate your story.” Varric offered, sliding down beside her and reaching to take her hand in his. 

“Right after I woke up the second time, you said these types of stories don’t end well and I should run.” Maria said softly. “A tragedy in the making, you said.” 

“You should know better than to listen to me by now.” Varric said, thumb rubbing against callouses. 

“Bianca came back to get her horse. I’d just put Bea in the tent, thank the Maker. And she looked right at me and asked me to not kill you like I killed my last lover.” Varric winced, drawing her hand to his lips. 

“Ignore her.” Varric reached over, closed the book on her lap. “Hey, look at me. Please?” 

She did, and he saw that her gray eyes were rimmed in tears too. “The hero dies at the end of the story. I’ve read enough of your books to know how it goes, Varric. If Corypheus doesn’t kill me, I’ve still got a hand with some ancient and dangerous magic embedded in it. And I saw how you looked at me at Haven, I’ve never forgotten it. If I wouldn’t have handed Beatrix to you, if I wouldn’t have begged, you’d have stayed then regardless of what I said. And that was before, Varric, what about now?”

“I’d stay.” Varric answered. “Shit. I’m not good at this. If Cassandra had never dragged me to that conclave I’d be kicking my heels in Kirkwall pretending none of this had happened.” 

“I don’t believe that.” Maria tightened her grip on his hand. “I don’t believe that at all.” 

Varric chuckled, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. “Maybe I’m a better man than you give me credit for. You do realize I’m a rogue and a scoundrel?” 

“Some women have soft spots for rogues and scoundrels.” Maria answered. 

“Sometimes, we have to make people make their own choices even when we hate them. If I die fighting at your side, then that’s what the Maker has in store for me and I’m fine with that. That’s my choice, Maria. I think I’d gladly choose you until the story ends, no matter which way it goes.” 

Without warning, her arms were around his neck, her face buried into his shoulder, her hips straddling his. “Sometimes, when nobody's looking, I’m terrified of all this.” She admitted in a harsh whisper. 

“If you weren’t, you’d be insane.” He reassured, smoothing her hair down. “Are we okay, Princess? Even after this?” 

“Yes.” She said simply, lips meeting his. 

 

Once Beatrix woke up, catching Maria alone was an impossibility. Being apart for months had given the two women an astonishing amount to catch up on. It was even worse when they arrived at Skyhold and found Zarra Cadash still seated, seemingly immovable, at Varric’s table. 

“Nanna.” Maria crossed her arms and stared down at the seated woman. “I told you to get out.” 

“And miss seeing darling Beatrix?” Zarra asked, looking positively scandalized as she pulled her younger granddaughter to her. “Never. Now, sweeting, tell me about this pirate you’ve taken up with.” 

“Are we now running the Carta out of the Inquisition?” Cassandra asked disapprovingly as she passed. Maria sighed, shrugged. 

“About that, dears, sit down. We must talk.” Zarra swept a hand at the other seats. 

“I’ll see you later.” Varric promised with a wink as he returned to his rooms. He cleaned the dust from the road, then tackled the pile of letters, mostly guild related, which he promptly tossed to the side. He read one from Aveline, who reported she still had Carver and Merrill safe and sound. Another from Nightingale about someone ripping off his books. A note from his publisher about where to send royalties. By the time he’d finished his replies, it was growing dark. When he wandered into the great hall, he could see most of the inner circle, but no Maria. He did see Beatrix, flushed with drink and looking particularly surly so he avoided her and took himself to the tavern. 

Where he was cornered almost immediately by Zarra Cadash. Varric almost groaned as the woman waved him over, a second mug of ale appearing as if by magic across from her as Cole scurried away up the stairs. He slipped into the seat with his most charming smile. 

“Don’t waste that on me, young man.” The woman sniffed. “Beatrix refused to tell me what she found at your former lover’s shop and Maria won’t even listen to the question. They both appear to believe the matter settled.” 

“And now I’m to convince you?” Varric guessed, tasting the ale. At least it was the good shit, he’d have to thank the kid later. 

“The girls frankly have far outgrown my opinions and aren’t shy to voice it. Did you know, deshyr, I’m from Orzammar?” Zarra smiled at the shocked expression Varric didn’t quite cover. “Oh yes,” she chuckled. “It was quite the scandal in my day. I’ve tended to notice these disastrous romantic escapades cluster in families. Didn’t your Hawke’s mother abandon her noble family to take off with a penniless apostate? And now the daughter dances around Thedas with a freed elven slave. It’s uncanny.” 

“Smith caste? No, you don’t have the build. Merchants?” Varric asked curiously. The old woman’s grin widened. 

“Before I left Orzammar, I was known as Zarra Aeducan.” Varric nearly spat out the ale in his mouth and Zarra laughed, clapping her hands together in delight. “Oh, I knew that would make you nearly shit your pants. I wish Maria could have seen it.” 

“You were royalty?” Varric sputtered. “A serious, right-hand-to-the-Maker Princess?” 

“According to Orzammar, I never existed. The missing sister of King Ansgard, the scandalous woman who took off for the surface with a rogue named Ronus Cadash and never regretted a moment of the life I gave up. Cheers to slipping the hook.” She lifted her mug, and Varric was left to follow her lead. The woman sighed, settled herself in her seat. 

“Ronus was a good man, terrible head for business. Together, we grew the clan, raised a family, scratched power out of nothing by our own wits.” Zarra spun a simple gold band around her finger thoughtfully. “And watching Maria grow - I thought I’d pass it all to her. My empire, to an heir finer than the brats my brother raised who killed each other for a throne. Compassionate, cutthroat, clever and charming.” Zarra sighed. “All of those things both girls have, but Maria had a work ethic that could tire a druffalo.” 

“You didn’t.” Varric said, rising slowly. 

“Disinherit her? Of course I had to.” Zarra said softly, swilling the ale in her mug. “She can’t be the Herald of Andraste and the Cadash heir. In truth, I’ve known she would leave the Carta since she was a teenager. Too great not to strike out on her own, I suppose.” 

“So you disinherited her?” Varric asked, voice low. “The only tie to home she has, and you cut it? And gave it to her sister? They must be furious.” 

“For now.” Zarra smiled. “Perhaps they have every right to be, but I won’t stand for your anger deshyr. When you think about it long and hard, if you’re half as clever as your books make you out to be, you’ll thank me.” 

“Because she’s free.” Varric said slowly. No ties to the Carta, nothing existing before Maria Cadash stepped out of the rift in Haven. No criminal past, no future obligations beyond what the Inquisition made itself. Free. 

“As a bird.” Zarra Cadash stood, downing her ale. “Only one thing remains for you to know, Master Tethras.” 

“The obligatory threat to send assassins.” Varric guessed. Zarra laughed, but not unkindly. Her eyes were sparkling. 

“Nonsense. I wouldn’t send anyone. I’m still quite handy with my own blades.” 

 

Somehow, Varric knew where he’d find her. Not in her own tower, which she’d probably relinquished to Beatrix anyway. Not on the battlements gazing out over the world of Thedas that waited, trembling, for her next action. No, she was outside his room in the shadows, a bottle of spiced ale dangling in her fingertips as she leaned over the courtyard and watched two shadows enthusiastically kissing with a small smirk. “Life goes on.” She said quietly as he approached, waving her hand at the couple. 

“Feeling philosophical?” Varric asked. “Or drunk?” 

“I resent the implication.” Maria said, taking a sip of the bottle. “This is the only bottle I’ve found so far and I just managed to escape Cullen, Josephine, and Leliana a half hour ago.” 

“Philosophy it is then.” Varric said. “You’ve got a bit of foam right…” and he leaned in, kissing her softly. She made a small noise of satisfaction and he could taste the cloves and ginger, cinnamon and nutmeg. His hands found her waist, pulling her close before they parted. “Want to talk?” He asked, inclining his head to his room.

“Is that what we’re calling it these days?” Maria teased, but she turned to the door and he opened it, waving her in. And it wasn’t the first time she’d been in his room, but it was the first time since before the Western Approach and she felt more...physical now. An overwhelming presence as he lit the lantern and she placed the bottle on his desk next to his battered journal. 

“Have you heard?” She asked. “Cole said you were with Nanna.” 

“She told me.” Varric admitted, turning as she perched on the edge of his bed. “Maria… I’m sorry.” 

“I don’t know whether to be furious, depressed, or…” She trailed off, then broke into a laugh. “Relieved. I’ve worked my whole life for something that’s gone, and I’m a bit  _ relieved. _ ” 

“You’re free.” Varric shrugged and Maria raised an eyebrow, waving her gloved left hand in front of his eyes where he knew the mark glowed beneath the leather. “Except for that.” He admitted. 

“No past, future unknown. Disowned from my family in the nicest way possible…” Maria mused. “And yet, instead of drinking myself into oblivion, here I am.” 

“Here you are.” Varric agreed, catching her gloved hand in his and bending over her, his other hand drawing her chin up. “Here you are.” He muttered again, before pressing his lips to hers, tongue swiping against her lip, begging entrance until she opened with a breath of release. He pulled the glove from her marked hand, pressing her calloused fingers against his chest, her marked palm against his heart. A tremor, a humming song was in her skin and he could feel it through his skin. His other hand moved to her side, crushing her body to his. She let out a little moan and her free hand grasped at the back of his shirt, then slipped underneath to let her trimmed nails scratch lightly against hard muscle. He felt his whole body tremor in need, his manhood twitch in anticipation. 

And he was hungry, starving as he pushed her back into the rich covers, pulling back to admire her pale skin against the crimson satin. Her eyes were blown dark with want, her breath was coming in quick gasps. “Tell me to stop and I will.” Varric barely recognized the low growl. Maria laughed, low and husky. 

“If you stop, I’ll skin you myself.” She threatened. That was all he needed as he climbed over as she settled herself among the pillows. When he pressed his mouth against her this time, he was demanding. And she gave, melting bonelessly against him as he nipped her bottom lip, then trailed kisses over her jaws as he kicked off his boots and pulled off her remaining glove. 

“I want to undress you.” He whispered against the hollow of her throat. “I’ve wanted to undress you since I had to follow your perfect ass up to the Temple of Sacred Ashes.” 

“I know.” She was holding her laugh back as his hands skimmed down her sides. “Cassandra tried to stop you from ogling.” 

Varric’s deft fingers were undoing her boot laces, pulling them off, and he chuckled. “The Maker himself couldn’t stop me from ogling you.” He promised, peeling off the thick woolen socks and tossing them behind him. Then, because he could, he was pressing his lips against hers again like a man drunk for the first time, drinking in her taste, drowning in her smell and those small needy noises she made. He braced himself above her, and her hands, free to roam, traced over his arms, squeezing muscles experimentally in a way that made him crazy. He scraped his teeth over her jaw and she moaned into the quiet room. The blood rushed so painfully to his erection, he almost lost it right there. 

He pulled the thin cotton from where it was tucked into her breeches, pulling it loose and pushing it up slowly as he pulled back to watch her skin revealed inch by inch. There were freckles, irregularly dotting her skin. He drew patterns between them with his fingers, finally pulling the shirt over Maria’s head. Then he stopped, eyes darting all over her skin, unable to fix on any one part. The dip of her navel, the ribs only barely visible as she laid beneath him. 

“You’re staring.” She accused with suppressed laughter. 

“I’m admiring a masterpiece.” He argued, his hand tracing over the cotton and leather contraption supporting her breasts. He began to unlace it, slowly, eyes fixed on each bit of skin. When it finally opened, Varric groaned. Her breasts were large, as most Dwarven women’s were, but he couldn’t have anticipated their sheer perfection. Nearly symmetrical, with nipples that were already pebbled and hard as he brushed the pad of his thumb over them. She arched into his touch, pressing the soft globes into his hands as she clutched at the blankets beneath her. Slowly, gently, Varric lowered his lips to her milky skin and brushed his tongue over the side of one globe, then the other, squeezing and teasing with his hands. Finally, when Maria was just about keening at his teasing, he brushed his broad tongue across the nub of her nipple. She acted like she’d been struck with electricity, swearing an oath to Andraste’s granny panties. 

“If only Cassandra could hear that blasphemy.” Varric teased as she traced lower, unlacing her breeches. Slowly, painstakingly, he peeled the soft material down her thighs as a pace designed to tease. Every inch or so of flesh, he’d drop a kiss or a gentle nip onto her skin. His fingers dragged over her sensitive inner thighs, and he could smell the musky scent of her arousal from her smalls.

“Maker’s ass Varric, you’re a tease.” She growled as he finally pulled the pants free, dropping them on the floor. “And I want to see what’s under your shirt. I’ve been patient enough.” There was a hint of a whine in her voice, a woman denied a treat too long. Varric smirked and obligied, pulling the red silk over his head with a flourish and throwing it at her. She caught it one handed, then grinned triumphantly as she took in his form, tracing the lines of his shoulders, the brawny arms she was so very fond of, the swell of his chest and then...she bit her lip in want as her eyes traced lower. His chest hair ended only just above another trail of hair down his abdomen and Maria looked desperate to find out where it went. Before she could move, however, Varric traced his knuckles over the hot core hidden just behind her smalls. He was rewarded with a mewing sound that was pure need and a shiny hint of her desire on his fingers. 

Her eyes flashed dangerously, and suddenly she was using his weight against him, pushing him back and straddling his hips. “I’ve had it with your teasing, Tethras.” She whispered, bending low over him so he could just about take one of her perfect nipples into his mouth again. She rubbed against the bulge in his pants and his eyes nearly rolled up in his head. She grinned, her hands exploring his abdomen, up over his shoulders then nails lightly scratching down his arms and his chest, following that line of hair to his uncomfortably tight breeches. 

“Is this where I beg for mercy?” He asked as her fingers slipped beneath the waist band. 

“It’s a bit early to beg for mercy.” Maria purred as she began to pull them down his legs, smalls and all. “I have all night.” 

And he almost laughed, until his erection sprung free and he moaned instead, hips thrusting upwards in reflex. She laughed, her fingers gripping firmly as she tested the velvet strength of his hard cock. “Maria…” He moaned through gritted teeth. He had waited entirely too long to spill in her hand. Although… “Wait...you can’t…” 

She seemed to know what he was trying to say, even though it was incomprehensible, words chased from his mouth by the soft grip of her hand. She kissed him, lightly. “I’ve been taking tea for weeks.” She admitted, then he was rubbing against the warm slick center of her, her hand guiding him. “No little Tethras’s for you at the moment.” 

Thank the Maker, he thought, but it was the last thing he thought before his thickness was sliding into her, stretching her, and he stilled himself as she set the pace, allowed herself to get used to his size and breadth. Then she hitched her hips, and Varric was gone, rolling her over in one smooth motion, her legs on either side of his waist as he dove into her, nipping at her jaw. “Varric…” she moaned, pressing against him. And he could feel her slick friction, could feel how absolutely close she was. He thrust and hit the perfect spot and she shattered, keening around him, sheath clutching him and milking him so that he almost saw stars as he struggled to maintain his self control. “Varric…” she moaned as she slid down, and then he began to move in earnest, pushing her, plowing into that spot he’d found so easily, watching as her eyes glazed with pleasure, fixed on him as her nails dragged down his back and caused a hiss to emerge from his mouth. “One more time.” He ordered, thrusting. “One more time, then we have all night.” 

She pressed her face to his shoulder, he could feel her teeth sinking into his skin just enough to bruise and then she was unraveling again, and within another two thrusts he was spending inside her, slick with sweat and holding her trembling body to his. “Maria…” he whispered gently, shuffling so he collapsed beside her, gripping her hand in his, twining their fingers together. “My Maria…” 

“Mmmm…” she stretched, looking ruffled and gorgeous in the lamp light. “I think I’ve told you I can get used to you saying my name like that.” 


	40. Minrathous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke and Fenris arrive in Minrathous and immediately become entangled in politics, to their dismay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do want to warn readers that this chapter does not delve into graphic details of past abuse, but it is certainly mentioned. Fenris had a terrible life before escaping Tevinter, and not acknowledging the scars that could leave seemed very wrong. I will try to avoid explicit details of sexual abuse, but I will not shy away from the topic completely. I will be updating the tags, if it is not already there, with an "implied past abuse" tag.

The rest of the journey took two days and the road grew more crowded each day with merchants, farmers, soldiers, and various groups of seedy looking characters. For the most part, Hawke was left unmolested besides some merchants who approached when they rested to shill their goods. Which is exactly how Hawke ended up with several brightly colored shawls in varying hues, a scarlet one for herself, a deep blue for Isabela, a white one for Aveline, green for Merrill, and one of shimmering silver she intended to send to Varric. 

“Fasta vass…” Fenris growled at the last inn they stayed in before Minrathous. “Is it too much to expect you to control your commercial impulses?” 

“Yes.” Hawke answered, sitting cross legged and attempting to stuff even more into their packs. Lucia was resting on the bed with her large head on Hawke’s thigh, pressed against her stomach. Her stub of a tail wagged as Hawke laughed. “When am I ever going to have an opportunity to bring back souvenirs from Tevinter again?” She asked with a smirk. 

“When we cross the bridge, you must act as if you are unaffected by the noise and grandeur.” Fenris instructed. Hawke rolled her blue eyes and Fenris swore again. 

“Reyna, you must…” He began. 

“Fenris.” She interrupted. “I did leave Lothering ten years ago, I’m not a Ferelden bumpkin anymore. I’m sure I can handle the marvelous sights of Minrathous without swooning. Stop worrying like a nagging grandmother.” 

Fenris could not help it. As if the looming spectre of Minrathous wasn’t enough to fear, despite Hawke’s nonchalance, she had been ill. Bouts of nausea had impeded their progress and Hawke had complained bitterly that the unnatural and oppressive heat was to blame, or the foreign food that wasn’t nearly as good as the fare in Kirkwall or Ferelden. He’d held his tongue and hadn’t pointed out that her incessant complaints were reminding him of Varric and that Orana had been slipping Tevinter recipes into Hawke’s dinner menus for years. 

At the moment, as they packed for their last leg of their journey, she appeared fine. She had gobbled down almost two whole plates of sticky sweet honey rolls and was humming under her breath as she packed. He despaired of her taking this seriously. “Hawke…” he began. She laughed, blue eyes flicking to him. 

“You’re annoyed.” She guessed with a grin. “You’re always annoyed when you start calling me Hawke.” 

“I’m beginning to agree with Shale, the flippant mage is most unhelpful.” Fenris growled low, bending over her sitting form and capturing her lips in a desperate kiss that he hoped conveyed the roiling anxiety, the fear, the concern for her wellbeing and the guilt for dragging her to the lion’s den. 

She pulled back from him, just far enough to look in his eyes and let her hand rest softly on his cheek. “We’ll be alright, Fenris.” She assured. “We have been so far.” 

“We have been lucky.” Or perhaps, he thought, it wasn’t luck at all. What had Sebastian said about the Maker’s hand being unseen but felt? He sighed, kissing Hawke’s forehead. 

“Will I be able to not be a magister as soon as we get into the city?” Hawke asked. “I’m sick to death of ordering you around.” 

“Altus.” Fenris corrected automatically. “And yes, you won’t have to be until we leave the city again.” 

“Thank the Maker.” Hawke said fervently. 

 

Despite her assurances to the contrary, the sight of Minrathous stole Hawke’s breath away. He had known, despite her best intentions, it would. These walls had repelled darkspawn, Andraste herself, the Qunari, and Maker knows what else. The wall were so tall that the insulae - slums lining the inside of the walls mostly filled with human refuse, former slaves known as liberati and the poorest of the soporati - the non-mage class - lost daylight for several parts of the day due to the sun being blocked. Carved dragons, representations of the old gods, lined the stone walls with sparkling gems in their eyes. The one bridge leading into the city was teeming with so many people that from their vantage point on the hills overlooking the coast it appeared they were ants covering a dropped plum. Inside the walls, he could see what seemed like thousands of red roofs leading to the glistening sea dotted with hundreds of boats. He waited, patiently, for Hawke to recover. When she shot him a guilty look, he couldn’t help but smirk. “Magisters…” He begins lowly. “Do not gawk.” 

She struggles not to laugh in the crowd, lips twitching in amusement, rolling her shoulders in a careless easy shrug that spoke not of majesty and grace, but of wordless freedom and joy. So desperately out of place in this place of shame. 

_ Danarius did not ride his horse - he rode in a carriage and Fenris rode beside him on an elegant gelding as black as his armor. The Master was ill tempered, displeased at having to hurry back to the city from his summer home to foil a rival’s machinations. It was a dangerous mood, Fenris knew, and the best was to bear it silently and wait for one of the other slaves to make a careless mistake, then clean up the mess. He thought it would the nervous maid in the master’s open coach, the one whose fingers shook when she peeled the skins from oranges. Fenris could smell her terror, and so could Master. Fenris suspected Master only allowed it to continue to  savor the taste.  _

_ In front of them, a jumble of peasants blocked the road. The carriage driver looked at Fenris nervously, an unspoken question in his brown eyes. Fenris dropped back, lowering his eyes. “Master.” He said lowly. “There is an obstruction in the road.” _

_ “Clear it.” Danarius ordered and the girl in the coach swallowed eyes flicking up to him as if he may save her. Foolish.  _

_ “As you wish.” Fenris said with a half bow from his saddle. He rode forward, past the driver, to the peasants. They were crowded around an injured boy, a woman holding him and wailing. Fenris slipped from his steed and the crowd parted, looking anxiously at him, then behind him at the Magister’s coach. Suddenly, the crowd began to move, dispersing, except for the woman with the boy. _

_ “Move.” Fenris ordered imperiously. “For the Magister.”  _

_ “He fell from the cart!” The woman blubbered, pointing to the cart on the side. “His back is broken! Help me!”  _

_ There was no help for the boy, no help for her, no help for him. If he did not clear the obstruction, then he would be punished. His guts roiled in fear as he grabbed the woman’s neck, the boy’s head dropping lifelessly to the ground as he  hauled her up and shoved her aside. She tried to push past him, to rejoin the boy, but it was too late.  _

_ Danarius’s coach never stopped, even as the heavy wood (mahogany, with golden gilt and matching white horses with orange ribbons in their manes) carriage ran over the boy’s body and the woman screamed, falling to his knees.  _

_ He could not look, he shoved away from her and remounted his horse. From the corner of his eye, he saw her crawling through the dust to the boy, sobbing harder. The child is better off dead, he thought.  _

_ The next sound he heard was glass breaking from inside the coach and a woman bursting into tears. A heavy thud called the coach to stop, not far from the almost dead child and mourning woman and the Master pulled the girl from the coach, her blonde hair curled around his fist as he threw her into the road. She was begging as the Master took the horse whip from the driver, cruelty gleaming in his eyes. Fenris felt only relief as the first crack broke the girl’s skin. It wouldn’t be him, not this time, he had served well.  _

“Come back to me.” Hawke’s voice, Hawke’s fingertips lingering on his shoulder. And he tore his eyes from the dusty road, back to Hawke’s clear blue eyes. Beautiful blue eyes, kind blue eyes, eyes that teared up at children starving in the Anderfels, eyes that should not be looking at him as if he was sacred. “Where have you gone?” She whispered, worried. 

“I…” Fenris felt the urge to flee. His mind swam and Hawke was off the horse, guiding it and him from the road despite the curious glances. A disaster, he thought, they would be caught for sure, and Hawke… it would be Hawke on the ground broken and bloody and…

“Fenris.” His name sounded perfect on her lips as they hid behind a crop of small, scraggly trees. “Fenris, what is it?” 

“I killed a child here.” He admitted, unable to look her in the eyes. “Right there. I allowed Danarius to run him over in his carriage while I held his mother back and I was  _ glad _ of it.” He can feel the rage, white hot, flickering the lyrium over his skin. “I was glad, because I then watched him beat another woman till she could not stand because she dropped a glass, and I was glad it was not me.” 

She listened, silent, until the fear of her silence became oppressive and he finally looked back into her eyes and found her as still as he’d ever seen her, but the expression on her face was grief and he knew it was not for the child in the street, but for him, and he hated her for it. “Would you forgive me anything?” He asked, venom dripping as he grasped her wrist. “How can you look at me with…” He trailed off. 

“Love.” She finished. “It was not you. It was what he tried to break you into. But he didn’t.” 

“You’re a fool.” He growled. She smiled, sweet and soft and warm. 

“Your fool.” She corrected. “Your wife, of your own free will.”  

He cursed her under his breath and stalked as far to the edge of the copse of trees as he could, hunching his shoulders up against her gaze and trying to steady his breathing. He knew she should leave, and knew she would not. 

“We should leave this place and never return.” Fenris spat the words at his feet. He knew what she would ask before she did. 

“Can you live with not knowing?” 

Could he? Could he live without knowing any more of the shattered, painful pieces of his past than he already did? In Kirkwall, the choice had been easy. Varania’s betrayal had been the final straw, extinguishing any need besides the yearning for a future of his own making. The few muddled memories he’d recalled when seeing his sister for the first time in so long had hardly been worth it. But… there had once been two children who had played and she had called him  _ Leto. _

“No.” He answered, straightening his shoulders.  “I cannot.” 

And Hawke sighed in resignation, gently stroking the horse’s head. “Then onward we go.” She muttered. “Into the abyss.” 

 

The crowd pressed so tightly on the bridge he could barely move and Lucia whined nervously, but the guards who accosted the merchants and farmers barely looked at them before dropping their eyes to the ground and they moved slowly, but surely, towards the city. Fenris had almost begun to relax as the gates loomed closer, the prickling anxiety on his neck feeling less and less needed. 

Until one guard shouted halt and Hawke’s hands tightened on the reins before she turned her eyes to the guard with the most arrogant and imperious expression she was capable of. She said nothing, merely arching one eyebrow. 

“Your elf must remove his hood.” The guard barked, an older and grizzled man. Fenris dropped his gaze immediately. “Archon’s decree to prevent nefarious types from entering the city.” 

That would doom them. Fenris could do nothing, only remain with his eyes pointing to the ground and count his rapidly escalating heartbeats. 

“Do I look the type to smuggle criminals into the city?” Hawke asked, voice raising to a shocked pitch. “Do you  _ know _ who I am?”

“Altus, it is necessary…” A younger woman had appeared, sweetly cajoling. Trapped, trapped and…

“Mistress!” A clear voice shouted from the city gates. “Domina! Ah, my lady!” 

Fenris did not look up, could not risk it, but the clear voice was racing towards them and he could see elegantly sandled feet stop in front of him, fine cotton trailing on the stones of the bridge. “My lady, Magister Tilani has been anticipating your arrival. Your journey must have been so exhausting, at such speed!” 

Hawke didn’t hesitate, grasping at whatever blessed opportunity (or trap, his mind whispered harshly) had fallen into their laps. “For my friend the Magister, I made all haste. I know she would not call for me unless the business was important, but it seems these imbeciles…” 

The other voice chimed in, distressed. “Is there a problem? The Magister will be most upset…” 

The man made a noise, but the woman was already reassuring rather fearfully that there was no problem, the apology in her tone as she turned to Hawke and the shadow of her hand on the stones waved them onwards. They began to move, the woman falling on Fenris’s side. Lucia sniffed at the woman’s fingers, tail wagging. 

“What a good Mabari.” The girl cooed, and Fenris placed the voice, eyes flicking up in shock. Ivy of the Inquisition met his eyes with a wink so quick he might have missed it, her inquisition uniform discarded for this plain servant’s garb, her hair artfully arranged to hide the scars on her face. She looked up at Hawke with a smile so saintly Fenris almost couldn’t place her again. 

“Master Pavus sent word to expect you. And that you’re a foolish dog lord for coming here.” Ivy whispered. 

Hawke laughed, relieved. 

 

Ivy brought them to a carriage where a statuesque young woman was waiting anxiously. Her skin was darker than Isabela’s and her hair was piled in tight curls atop her head. She twisted her bangles on her arms and smiled softly as Hawke slipped from the saddle. “Champion.” She inclined her head delicately. “My name is Tamar Abeyta of Antiva, I’m representing Ambassador Montilyet here.” 

“Not the time for proper introductions, Tamar.” Ivy said, smile still plastered onto her lips as she opened the carriage door. 

“Where are we going?” Hawke asked. 

“To the residence of Magister Maevaris Tilani, she has been working with the Inquisition to limit Venatori influence in Tevinter.” Tamar explained, slipping into the carriage and beckoning them to follow. 

“Does this Magister know who she is welcoming into her home?” Fenris asked between clenched teeth. Out of the frying pan and into the fire.

“She is… fascinated by your story and wishes to meet you and learn your reasons for coming. Master Tethras shared his belief you would come here, but not why.” Tamar answered delicately. “She is aware of your importance to the Inquisition.” 

“I’ll take your horse, my lady.” Ivy said smoothly, gathering the reins and lifting herself up into the saddle demurely. “I assure you, you will be comfortable at the Magister’s home. I guarantee it personally.” 

But it wasn’t Hawke Ivy was looking at, it was Fenris. And she waited until he nodded and gestured for Hawke to slip into the carriage before she took off, the horse trotting quickly down the maze of side streets. 

“She’s rather young.” Hawke observed as they slipped into the carriage, Lucia barely fitting despite half her body draped over Hawke’s lap. “And pretty. How do you know each other?” 

Fenris shut the door behind him, tugging the curtain past the window as a precaution. Tamar knocked politely on the wooden ceiling and the carriage began to clatter forward over the cobblestones. “She delivered the letter from Varric to the shack at Lake Callenhad.” Fenris answered. “Telling me where you were. Then accompanied me to Skyhold.” 

“I’m sure she enjoyed it.” Hawke muttered. 

“I doubt it.” Fenris felt… confused. He couldn’t quite place the tone Hawke was using. “I was still not at my best from the injury and I was rather… irritable at your absence.” 

“Ivy has a soldier at Skyhold she receives notes from in my dispatches.” Tamar said smoothly. “They appear quite enamoured. There is nothing improper in her respect of your husband, Champion.” 

Ah, Fenris thought, and pink tinged along Hawke’s cheekbones. He couldn’t help the startled and warm chuckle that erupted from his chest. “I was not jealous.” Hawke protested, crossing her arms over her chest. 

“Of course, Champion.” Tamar reassured smoothly. “Now, what do you know of Magister Tilani?” 

“She’s an outcast, but ruthless and incredibly wealthy.” Fenris answered. “I’ve heard she is an impressive mage, but I never saw myself. Danarius counted her as an enemy, but did not engage with her directly outside the Senate.” 

“She is also an old friend of the Inquisitor’s companion, Dorian Pavus, and has a firm respect for the Inquisition based on the Inquisitor’s treatment of Dorian and the rebel mages. She is also using her connections to the power of the Inquisition to bolster her own standing and influence.” Tamar continued. 

“Typical Magister scheming. I do not like this, Hawke.” Fenris observed. Hawke scratched behind Lucia’s ears thoughtfully. 

“What power and standing can the Inquisition have in Tevinter?” Hawke asked. Tamar laughed. 

“Thanks to our Inquisitor’s exploits and the talents of Sister Nightingale and Ambassador Montilyet, the Inquisition expands at a rapid pace. Currently, the Archon and the King of Nevarra are both at each other’s throats over a piece of disputed land, and both are petitioning the Inquisitor to decide the matter. Ivy states there are whispers of fear from the Magisters’ households that the Herald of Andraste will punish Tevinter for the work of Corypheus and bring her armies to the walls of Minrathous as the lady herself did.” Tamar explained. 

“Is that likely?” Hawke asked, surprised. Tamar shrugged. 

“Currently? No. There is too great a fear of Corypheus using the civil war in Orlais to sow destruction and red templars roam the south despite the Inquisition forces growing. After our enemy is defeated, however? I believe there is much injustice here, and if it cannot be resolved peacefully…” Tamar shrugged her elegant shoulders. “When we arrive at the estate, I can show you to guest quarters. Magister Tilani is asking that you be discreet, even with her servants.” 

“Slaves, you mean.” Fenris growled. 

“There are relatively few slaves in the household, most are free men and women. Regardless, she asks you to be discreet. She fears what could occur if it was known the wolf stalked Minrathous with his lady.” Tamar reached to grasp Hawke’s hand. “I have letters for you from your friends in Skyhold. I will send them to your quarters.” 

“And you’re not going to ask our mission?” Fenris asked suspiciously. Tamar grinned, pearly white teeth against her dark skin. 

“I know you seek the woman involved in the duel with Anders of Kirkwall. Ivy has already begun to track her for you. I suspect you seek him as well, although he leaves as little trace as a spirit. I know there is a third person you seek and that he does as well, and I know the woman is privy to their whereabouts. I hope your stay in the city will be brief, that we can help you on your mission, and send you back south before your presence complicates matters unnecessarily. I attempted to make the case for preventing you from accessing the city at all, but Ivy couldn’t bear to see her hero thwarted from his goal. Whatever you choose to tell our host is your affair.”  

“Thank the Maker, I thought you were about to tell us what color small clothes we were wearing.” Hawke grumbled. 

“Scarlet for you, I believe, based on what the tailor in Val Dorma created for you.” Hawke’s jaw dropped and Tamar laughed. “The Inquisition agents are quite competent, I assure you. There was a scribbled note from the Inquisitor with Dorian’s letter instructing us to help you however was needed. Our resources are at your disposal.” 

 

The estate was beautiful, situated in the elegant and stylish city center where most of the Magisters kept their palaces. The mosaic tiles on the entrance way were cool blue, Danarius’s had been orange, and there was an abundance of vines curling up curved columns with bright yellow flowers that released a heady scent. The entire building was situated around an elegant courtyard with a bubbling fountain, a dragon reclining in it and spouting water from its mouth. There were no servants to be seen as Tamar led them through the courtyard, past blooming lilies and hidden benches, into a corridor that opened into the garden. She opened a door and waved them into an opulent room with a massive four poster bed covered in pale blue silk, gold trimmed and embroidered, with solid mahogany chest of drawers and a desk where several letters rested along with expensive looking writing implements. Their bags were already on a white chaise lounge, meaning Ivy had beat them to the estate and possibly cleared out the servants so they could enter unobserved like prisoners. 

“This is exactly where I feared we would end up.” Fenris was glaring at the silken bed, trying to keep the nausea from his roiling stomach. It reminded him of Hadriana’s, and he hated it. It brought broken memories of icy fingers clutching his hair cruelly, forcing his head down. He could feel the cold sweat prickling his skin. He would not be sleeping there. “At the mercy of a Magister.” 

“It’s not ideal.” Hawke said, picking up the letters on the table and tearing open the first one eagerly. “But our friends know where we are. See, this is from Varric!” She waved the sheaths of paper in front of him, settling herself on the edge of the desk to read while Lucia jumped on the bed. 

Varric looked at the other letters, tearing open one with unfamiliar handwriting. The note was incredibly short and looked as it had been rushed. The signature a curling M and the word “Cadash” scrawled next to it.

Hawke & Fenris, 

Varric’s worried sick about you. Don’t do anything to give Tamar an ulcer. I would recommend leaving Minrathous as soon as you get there if possible, but if you have to say know we’ll do what we can. 

  * M. Cadash 



P.S. What in the Maker’s asscheeks happened at Weisshaupt? Leliana trying to track down Warden Commander Amell. I bet 10 silver that there really wasn’t a golem.

 

“Well, she’s losing that bet.” Fenris grumbled. 

Hawke was glaring at Varric’s letter furiously, turning pages and skimming it. “What is it?” He asked. 

“I tried to warn him that she’d come.” Hawke cursed cryptically, flipping to the next page. “Why does he always have to drag a damn story out? If he fell for it I swear on Andraste’s ashes we’re heading back to Skyhold immediately.” 

The door clicked open and Hawke only flicked her eyes up in annoyance at Ivy’s entrance before casting them furiously back at the papers. “Didn’t believe me when I said yer infamous up here?” Ivy demanded hotly. “Never thought to ask somebody else to come look for this Varania?” 

“You  _ knew _ you were famous?” Hawke interrupted, glaring at him now.

“Damn right he did!” Ivy crossed her arms. “I told him when I dragged his ass back to Skyhold, but no, decide right on to come slinking to Minrathous.” 

“You’re here as well, a dangerous place for an escaped slave.” Fenris accused Ivy, before turning back to Hawke helplessly. “I didn’t believe it was as she said.” 

“I am one of hundreds and I don’t have lyrium carved in my damn skin like a target. I don’t even want to be here, but somebody’s gotta make sure this prissy Magister doesn’t get shanked by all these enemies she’s makin’. Now I got you and your lady death wish to take care of?” Ivy asked, hands on her hips. 

“Do you trust this Magister?” Fenris asked, ignoring her tantrum. Ivy stopped, paused, and stared thoughtfully at the wall. 

“I don’t know if I trust any of ‘em far as I can throw ‘em.” She answered honestly. “But she doesn’t seem a bad sort. Servants are treated well. She’s freed a bunch of her slaves over the years, in small groups to not attract attention. But she’s got her own game, they all do. Yer throwin’ a wrench in it by showin’ up here. If the other Magisters find out she’s put you up in a guest room…” 

“Then why risk it?” Hawke asked, putting down Varric’s letter. 

“That’s an awfully good question. Tamar says it’s cause she needs the Inquisition, but I’m not so sure she isn’t hoping for a favor from the man and woman who killed Danarius. If I find out for sure, you’ll be the first to know.” 

Fenris shared a look with Hawke that equal parts frustration and bewilderment. Ivy coughed and broke in. “Varania, the tailor in the slums. That’s who yer lookin’ for?” 

Her name hit him in the chest, recalling two images in his head that were pristine. An adult woman with hollow and hungry looking eyes, a child kneeling in the dirt scratching a picture of a flower with a stuck while the sun beat on their backs. “In part.” Fenris said. “What do you know?” 

Ivy took a deep breath, then exhaled in a rush. “She was a slave of Danarius’s, but you know that. Freed near about ten years ago. A mage, but self taught like most slaves with magic.” 

“Why self-taught?” Hawke asked, confused. “I thought magic was prized here.” 

“Yes...and no.” Ivy said, studying her fingernails. “Some Magisters, upon finding a mage in their household slaves, free them instantly and train them or send them to a circle. They then get stuck doing work the Magisters don’t want to do, same with any mage born to a free soporati. Some Magisters keep the mage enslaved and force them to use their powers for their will. Others…” 

“Danarius once found a mage, a girl no older than ten, and used him for blood magic.” Fenris finished. “A free man’s daughter, a poor farmer I believe, purchased to be bled to death.”

“They say the blood of a mage is even better for blood magic than regular blood. I don’t know how many slaves with magic are killed, no one does.” Ivy said softly. “But… Varania survived.”

Fenris felt as if someone was shoving a needle through his temple. He rubbed the spot with his knuckles. “Did you...did you know her? You said you didn’t remember when we were traveling to Skyhold, but…” Ivy asked. 

“She is my sister. She attempted to sell me back to Danarius for a place in the Magisterium.” Fenris bit out. Some noise of shock lodged in Ivy’s throat and she looked to Hawke for confirmation. She nodded, wrinkling her nose. 

“And you want to find her?” Ivy asked, aghast. “Void take her, let the mad apostate have her or let Minrathous eat her alive and get out of here.” 

“We cannot, because...there is someone else. We know not who.” Fenris said. Ivy’s expression darkened. 

“I haven’t been able to confirm there’s anyone else, I know the apostate was demanding some sort of information from her the day he dueled her, but she claimed ignorance of anything the whole time and from all reports, the man nearly killed her. Would’ve if a guard patrol hadn’t been passin’ through. There might not be anyone else, it could be a ghost yer goin’ to get yerself killed for.” Ivy stated factually. 

“We must know for certain, we didn’t come all this way to not see Varania and ask her ourselves. I think she owes us that much, at least.” Hawke said softly, laying her hand on his shoulder. “Sit down, Fenris. You look… awful.” 

“It’s nothing.” He shrugged her hand off, but allowed himself to be directed pointedly towards the chaise. “What else do you know?”

“She worked mostly for the Magisters, used to enter their households as a servant but then began to work out of a market stall and door to door while living in one of the insulae. Moved around a lot. Known for fancy embroidery, I guess. The mad apostate caught her at the market stall and was demanding to know where “Sabina” was. Does that name ring a bell?” Ivy paused, looking at Fenris expectantly. 

Fenris waited for it to trigger...something, anything. But the name rolled around his hollow memories like a lost marble. He shook his head and Hawke sighed. 

“She claimed not to know who that was, the mage continued to ask, it devolved into a duel in the middle of the street. Although it wasn’t a proper Magister’s duel or anything. Brawl would be a better term. She slipped away when the guard arrived and tried to stop Anders, disappeared into the city. She’s been seen a few times, and I think I can narrow down to the insulae she was living in before this happened, but I don’t know exactly where she is now.” Ivy shrugged.  

Before they  could ask anything else, the door opened again with Tamar carrying an ewer of heavily scented rose water. Cloying and overpowering enough to cause his headache to triple. 

“What in the Maker’s ass is that?” Ivy asked. 

“The Magister assured me it is the finest scented oil she owns, guaranteed to allow her guest to rest.” Tamar replied, annoyed. 

“Smells like a brothel.” Ivy said, lifting her sleeve to her mouth. “A cheap one.” 

Fenris looked up at Hawke and saw that she’d gone pale under the thick bronze powder she’d been wearing. “Chamberpot.” he said to Ivy. Tamar sputtered, but Ivy was quicker, realizing the look on Hawke’s face meant nothing good. The silver bowl was pressed under Hawke in an instant and the elf’s fingers pulled back her hair as she emptied her stomach. 

“Get it out Tamar, for Andrate’s sake.” Ivy ordered. “Unless the Magister means to kill us all.” 

“I fucking hate this country.” Hawke groaned as Fenris rubbed small circles in her back. “Hate it.” 

Fenris couldn’t help but smile as the other woman withdrew with apologies. Ivy shook her head and tutted. “Food not agreein’ with you?” 

“Nothing does. She’s becoming as insufferable as a dwarf.” Fenris remarked. “But, to be fair, if she didn’t retch, I fear I may have.” 

“Magisters.” Ivy sighed dramatically. “Always fuckin’ with something.” 


	41. Grief and Loss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> People react to Varric and Maria sharing a bed. Varric is tapped to help Josephine negotiate.

Varric awoke to quiet, gentle whispering voices, the smell of strong coffee, and dawn just breaking outside. He opened his eyes and rubbed his first across them, turning to find two redheaded women with their heads together on the opposite side of his bed. 

Maria held the blankets up to her chest with one hand to preserve some modesty, her hair a tangled mess and lips swollen from rough and passionate kisses. He could still see the line of her back presented to him, bare and delicious. She was holding a cup of coffee Leliana was leaning against the wall closest to Maria’s side of the bed and speaking softly, but her lips quirked as he stirred and her eyes sparkled in barely disguised merriment. 

“How often are you woken with Inquisition business first thing in the damn morning? For future reference.” Varric asked, sleep roughening his voice. Maria turned, smiling almost shyly. 

“Be thankful it  was not our Commander.” Leliana said slyly with just a hint of a giggle. 

“Curly wouldn’t have known where to find her.” Varric said reasonably, sitting up and pressing his bare chest against the skin of Maria’s back.  “Some of that coffee for me, Princess?” 

“If you’re going to complain, I’m keeping it all for myself.” Maria teased as she took another sip of the hot liquid, before passing the cup over her shoulder to Varric. It was still scalding when it hit his lips and a bit sweeter than he’d take himself. 

“The rest of our business can wait until you are dressed, Inquisitor.” Leliana said pleasantly, pushing away from the wall. “Should I perhaps delay the others on their way to the war room?” 

“Unnecessary, I can see you’re bursting to tell Josephine where you found me anyway.” Maria observed, combing her fingers through her disheveled hair. “I’ll come right after I wash up and talk to Solas.” 

“I knew he’d come back.” Varric stretched, feeling joints pop into place and hearing the not-unpleasant cracks of bones well used the night before. “You’ll owe me an ale.” 

“I believe she has already paid you well in advance.” Leliana’s eyes swung knowingly between the two of them and Maria laughed, making a shooing motion with her free hand. Leliana swaggered out without another word, and when the door clicked behind her, Varric sat the cup down on the end table and pulled Maria’s back to him, arms circling her waist and his chin on her shoulder. Her skin was soft against the stubble on his chin and he couldn’t resist the urge to kiss languidly up her neck. 

And why should he? “You could stay in bed…” he offered, tantalizingly pulling her harder against him. 

“They’ll send Cullen next.” Maria warned, entirely too in possession of her faculties. Varric fixed that with a gentle nip to her ear lobe that caused her to gasp and squirm in his arms. “And if that doesn’t work they’ll send Vivienne…” 

That caused him to playfully loosen his arms just a bit. “I’ll admit I find that a bit  more frightening.” He whispered against her skin. “I’d still risk it.” 

“I could promise to come back tonight… Or you could come up to my rooms. I don’t know where, but Josephine found a bathtub with runes that keep the water warm.” Maria offered. Varric chuckled. 

“And you wouldn’t mind the gossip that Varric Tethras sneaks into the Inquisitor’s chambers at night?” He let one hand travel up to her arm, then down to her hand where he joined their fingers together. 

“Frankly, I wouldn’t mind if Andraste herself saw Varric Tethras dancing naked to my room.” Maria admitted. “I wasn’t exactly subtly hanging around outside your room last night, you know.” 

“Your place it is, Inquisitor.” Varric teased. “I’ll bring cards and ale.” 

 

So, in retrospect, he shouldn’t have been surprised when Curly walked in on them the next morning in the Inquisitor’s rooms, dropping all of his carefully prepared schedules and notes. The next evening, Beatrix barged into his room in the middle of the next night drunk and furious, looking for Maria with Zarra Cadash on her heels. Varric had pretended to be invisible while the three women argued. This caused them to flee back to her room the next evening (“At least there are guards. We’d get some warning.” Maria said cheerfully.”) Then Josephine bustled into the Inquisitor’s room that morning, twitching curtains open and brightly chirping away a list of visiting dignitaries. The good news was that her advisors always brought coffee, and Josephine thoughtfully provided a pitcher with two cups. 

“So how many people in Skyhold have seen you naked, Varric?” Dorian asked conversationally one day as Varric poked around the library. “It’s all they can talk about downstairs, finding you and the Inquisitor all tangled up together.” 

“Redheads!” Bull and Sera cheered when he walked into the tavern, then dissolved into raucous laughter. 

“I received a letter from an acquaintance in Orlais asking if the Inquisitor would be amenable to marriage negotiations. I declined for you, darling.” Vivienne told them one day in passing with a slight nod, carrying on as if nothing unusual had been said. 

“It is in your best interest to ensure she drinks the tea I made regularly.” Solas commented, concerned. “It will lose its effectiveness if she misses even one dose. I will ensure to pack additional supplies when we leave again. It is better to be prepared than struggle to plan for an infant.” 

“Not sure what she sees in you, to be honest.” Blackwall shrugged. “Has she seen those stories you’ve been writing about us?”

“Soft when she sleeps, smiling. Maker, keep her safe and I’ll never ask for anything again. Swearing and silent. Questions quieted.” Cole murmured. “The cat had kittens, do you want to see?” 

And then...the one he really didn’t want to deal with. “Am I to understand your Bianca was married?” Cassandra asked, hand on her hip as he studied Inquisition requisition reports that had somehow gotten messed up with his letters. 

“Are we gossiping about each other’s love lives now? Have we reached that stage of friendship?” Varric asked, raising an eyebrow. “Shouldn’t we start with current relationships? That’s all everyone else is talking about.” 

“Forget I mentioned anything.” Cassandra scowled. “It was a simple question, Varric.” 

“There was nothing simple about it.” He retorted under his breath as she stalked away. 

“Explaining Dwarven shit to a human is impossible, I wouldn’t even try.” Beatrix slunk into the seat next to his, staring listlessly into the courtyard. “Humans only understand what they want to.” 

“Still sulking, Mittens?” Varric asked casually. “You know, your sister needs iron and can’t get enough from the merchants in Ferelden. Sounds like it would be right up your alley.” 

“If I leave, I’ve accepted defeat. I supplant my sister and Nanna wins. As long as I stay here, the fight’s on.” Beatrix said stubbornly. “So I stay.” 

“Maria isn’t angry at you, you do realize that?” Varric asked. 

“I know.” Bea stared glumly at the ground. “Somehow, that makes it worse.” 

“Really dreading taking over that much?” Varric leaned back, watching a gaggle of children playing some game with shiny, smooth rocks. Hawke would have known what it was called. 

“Filling in for the great and mighty Maria Cadash? No matter what I do, everyone will always compare it to my sister and I’ll never measure up. Why try?” Beatrix shrugged, but Varric grinned. This… this was a song and dance he knew well. 

“So don’t.” He advised generously. “Don’t try to be your sister. It’ll just make you miserable and nobody else is going to be fooled.” 

“And what does my wise and sage elderly friend suggest?” Maria drawled sarcastically, sinking even lower into the chair and crossing her arms across her chest petulantly. 

“If your grandmother is going to make you take this role, make it your own. Don’t think about what Maria would do - do what you want. Make the deals you like, threaten or sleep with your contacts if that kind of diplomacy works for you.” 

Maria tipped her head to her side, consideringly. “This seems like sabotage. Get me to make Nanna so crazy she begs Maria to come back.” 

Varric chuckled. “So, it seems you win either way. Do you really want the job if you can’t do it your way, Mittens? Seems to me that’s the only way your grandmother is going to make this work. Compromise for all involved.” 

Bea closed her eyes and leaned her head back, fingers tapping on the armrest thoughtfully. “Don’t get attached to this astute older brother schtick. Sleeping with my sister doesn’t qualify you.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Mittens.” Varric assured.

“You’d have to stop calling me Mittens.” Bea mumbled under her breath. “I’ll need something more dignified.” 

 

Varric climbed the steps to Maria’s apartments, cursing under his breath as he looked at the remaining dozen or so doubtfully. Someone must have been angry at her when they stuck her up at the top of the damned tower. It was pure punishment for a dwarf to deal with these stairs daily. “Varric?” Maria called from the top. 

“I’m coming.” Varric replied, exhausted. “Who did you piss off before they gave you this room?” 

“I told Josie to fuck the importance of Nevarran genealogy. Alas, I must live to regret it.” Maria answered quite seriously as he made his way up the last steps. She was sitting at her desk, feet tucked underneath her in a chair that was far too large and ornate. Her red hair was knotted at the nape of her neck and loose strands framed her face. 

“So, I need your help and you’re going to hate it.” Maria began as he approached. “But I have good news too.” 

“We’re going to go hunt a dragon?” Varric guessed, slipping to her side noiselessly and leaning over her shoulder. 

“I’m afraid you may prefer that, honestly.” Maria said, rolling up a piece of paper. 

“Well, as long as it isn’t the Merchant’s Guild.” He said easily. Maria winced guiltily and Varric groaned. “Andraste’s ass, the Merchant’s Guild? Really?” 

“They’re sending a delegation to start negotiations with Josephine next week, and you know how they feel about dealing with humans. They’ll try to rob her blind and make it one hundred times more difficult than it has to be. I was going to help, but there’s red templars crawling all over the Emerald Graves and this contact Leliana made out there is demanding to meet with me personally. I can’t put off going anymore. I can’t ask Nanna and I can’t ask Bea, you’re…” 

“The only one left.” Varric slumped his shoulders in resignation. “I’d rather go back to Orlais with you.” 

“I’ll owe you.” Maria cajoled, leaning back in her chair. “Anything you want.” 

“Anything?” Varric asked smoothly with a deep chuckle. “A big promise, Inquisitor.” 

“Well, you know me. Made for big promises.” Maria smirked, then held up another letter. “A letter from Minrathous, Messere.” 

Varric told the folded paper, smirked at the familiar writing on the outside, then unfolded it briskly. 

 

My trusty dwarf,

Maria’s people saved our asses on the bridge into Minrathous. Tell her thank you. This Magister we’re staying with says she was married to a cousin of yours? Fenris is disappointed in his tastes. We also hate it here and will be returning south at our earliest opportunity after finding what we’re looking for. The food and heat are unbearable. 

I’m not particularly sorry about Bianca. You deserve better. Perhaps someone of Inquisitorial standing? With gleaming red hair? Dorian wrote about the poems, you ass, so you better tell me the rest of the story. What happened when you got back to Skyhold? 

Fenris is looking like he’s about to torch this bed in our (absurdly luxurious) guest room. I’m not quite certain what it’s done to offend him so much, but I suspect I’ll be sleeping on the floor. Kiss Maria for me? I’ll leave where you place the kiss up to your creative mind. 

Love, 

R.H.

 

Varric chuckled, dropping a kiss onto Maria’s head. “Well, Hawke and Fenris seem to be having an absolutely miserable time in Minrathous.” 

“Ivy’s report rather colorfully described Hawke vomiting at a peace offering from the Magister of the most atrociously scented rose water she’d ever had the misfortune to smell.” Maria added. “I can find it here if you want to read it yourself.” 

“I’ll pass, thank you.” Varric chuckled, placing another soft kiss on Maria’s temple. “Thank you. For trying to keep them safe.” 

“Oh, it’s mostly selfish at this point in time.” Maria added smugly. “Hawke never did finish the book you wrote, and I have to see her reaction to chapter ten before I die.” 

“They refused to give me the details! I had to make it up as I went along. It’s their fault really.” Varric protested as Maria stood, lacing her fingers with his. 

“And what, Varric Tethras, will you write about us?” Maria asked, tugging him towards the bed. 

“I’d never give away my secrets to the general public.” Varric answered with a wolfish grin. “And I’d rather nobody else picture you naked.” 

 

Maria left the same day Zarra and Beatrix did. The three women stood in the courtyard for a long moment, awkwardly looking at each other before Bea threw her arms around Maria’s neck and buried her face in her shoulder. And Zarra had smoothly, gently, tucked both their hair behind their ears. And that, Varric thought, was that. Maria Cadash, whether sent by Andraste or not, would no longer be the criminal heiress. 

Maybe, he thought idly, he could get her a seat in the Merchant’s guild when this was all over. She’d have fun with it and he did have a fair amount of favors stored up. It  would serve her right for sticking him with this negotiation business. 

Their own goodbye was private, tucked into the corner of the stable. Enough of her life was a spectacle without a public show at the gates. He kissed her senseless, smug at her reddened cheeks when she pulled away at the sound of Cassandra’s shouting. “I’ll see you in a week, at most.” She promised with a final lingering kiss to his cheek. And then she was gone. 

But he’d watched from the battlements as she rode away and felt a cold shard of fear in his heart. A certainty, a dread, that someday she would ride away and not return. She’d looked so whole, strong, untouchable and powerful on the horse that was three times as tall as she was, surrounded by Cassandra, Sera, and Solas, her red hair like an Inquisition banner in the wind. Or a target, his heart whispered traitorously. 

And that was the problem with daring to romance the hero. Someday, the hero didn’t return.

 

Negotiations with the Guild were going about as well as could be expected. Ruffles, at the least, seemed happy. Although the final document was quite possibly going to be three hundred pages long, at least it would be thorough. And with Varric there, the cutting remarks about humans were cut nearly to zero. There was a significant chance, however, that his migraine would never go away. The better news was that Beatrix seemed to have thrown herself into the smuggling business with renewed vigor. Her latest shipment of supplies to Skyhold even included some excellent brandy that someone would have to pry out of his cold dead hands. And then there were the near daily missives from the Emerald Graves. Maria’s initial hopes that they’d be in and out had changed once she learned the extent of the red lyrium smuggling operation, but her notes glossed over the struggle so neatly he had to stoop to pickpocketing the reports she sent to Cullen instead to figure out what was really going on. 

Instead, they were filled with observations of things she knew Varric would complain about if he were there. The great wilderness full of hostile wildlife (notably bears the size of small houses) that wanted to eat you, tree roots up to her knees, rifts in improbable places, haunted mansions… 

Then, she asked about things at Skyhold. Innocuous things - how the kittens were doing, if Cole had stopped scaring the maids, why in the bleeding void the hole in Cullen’s roof still wasn’t fixed after she’d sent a third crew to do it. At the end of every note, she wrote one question: Miss me yet?

Maker, he’d missed her the moment she stepped out of the gate. Her smell had started to fade from his pillows and he still hadn’t moved the coffee cup she’d left there her final morning. Superstitious, he knew, and Hawke would laugh if she heard about it, but still… 

There had been no notes for two days, no word at all for anyone from the Inquisitor. It could mean nothing, the birds had been lost or perhaps they were on their way home. It didn’t keep him from growing more and more concerned. 

He was startled from his thoughts by Leliana opening the door to Josephine’s room. Varric had half the contract he was supposed to be going over, she had the other half. Varric was delighted to discover Josephine had also been gazing lazily out the window and had to straighten herself when Leliana entered. 

“Varric, Josie…” Leliana started, eyes flicking between the two of them. “There’s been an incident.” 

Leliana was clutching a rolled piece of paper in her hands, but Varric could tell the writing wasn’t Maria’s. “What is it?” Josephine asked, tone worried. Varric was already starting to stand. Leliana took another deep breath, but when she spoke, she was looking calmly at Varric. 

“The Inquisitor has been injured, severely. They are on their way back to Skyhold.” And Varric felt the bottom of his world drop out. 

“Sweet Andraste! How?” Josephine asked, standing as well. 

“Cassandra writes they got caught between a giant and a red templar encampment. This message is dated two days ago, they should be almost…” 

He didn’t wait to hear the rest. Contract forgotten, Varric was out the door. A stop in his room to grab Bianca and some supplies, only the essentials. Cole was already waiting at the stables, blessedly quiet, with Iron Bull and the Ferelden healer of his Mercenary group. Bull already had Varric’s pony saddles. 

“Kid came and got us.” Bull said, throwing the back over his own mount. “Took a bit to unravel, but when I saw the look on Red’s face…” 

“Do they know how bad it is?” Stitches asked. 

“The hawk says not here. Hurting, hobbled, blood on the tiles. Fine tanned fingers cradle her head and say a girl’s name, not a hawk’s, and the healers hands shake, but the hawk says it isn’t that bad, don’t risk magic here.” Cole paused, troubled. “She would have been safe, but she ran towards trouble. That is what hawks and heralds and heroes do. You hate it.” 

“I don’t know.” Varric admitted. “She didn’t write herself, so bad.” 

Stitches nodded and swung into the saddle. Varric led the group at a brisk trot out the front gates. He turned and looked over his shoulder as they began to make their way down the mountain and saw three figures on the battlements looking down at them.

 

They didn’t stop when night fell, although it wasn’t a decision that they spoke about. They simply pushed on. The road was quiet, calm, and when they saw the light of a campfire just before dawn fell, Varric felt something like relief threaten to choke him. Bull held up a hand, swinging from his mount as he approached, broad as a house. There was a sound of alarm which tapered into a choked laugh as a small, stick thin figure threw herself into his arms. “You big arse! Glad to see it’s you!” Sera cried. 

“How’s boss?” Bull asked. “Brought Stitches to get her on her feet.” 

“Mr. Elfy-shite is lookin’ after her. Has been since. Says there’s swelling and he’s shite at healing, but I think she looks better.” Sera said brightly, waving the others forward. “Come on.” 

Varric pushed past her, into the camp. Cassandra had stirred in her sleep and had risen, propping herself on her elbow. When she met Varric’s eyes she jerked her chin behind her to where a small tent had been erected, the only one standing. Solas rested outside it, eyes closed and leaning on a tree.

The tent was dark, but Stitches was right behind him and had the foresight to bring a lit lantern. He hung it on the tent pole above him and surveyed the damage silently alongside Varric. Maria’s hair was arranged simply beside her head. There were several scrapes along her cheek bone. She was breathing, steady and warm even though she looked much too pale. She was bare beneath the thick blanket, he noticed that when Stitches pulled it down gently and respectfully, but bandages were crossed from her breasts down to her navel. Stitches touched them and furrowed his brow. 

“It was my fault.” Solas said from behind them, not entering the crowded space, but kneeling at the flap. “We were sneaking around one of those giants and stumbled into a red templar camp. Before we could silence the sentry, he raised the alarm. The commotion drew the giant and…” 

“Trapped like rats.” Iron Bull grunted from somewhere outside. “Could have happened to anyone.” 

“I was fending off a red templar when the giant noticed me. He picked up a stone and was going to throw it, but...Maria called it’s attention. She managed to dodge the stone, but had to dodge a templar’s sword before she could run. The giant approached and… swung both the templar and the Inquisitor into the stone of an Elvhen ruin.” Solas explained. 

“Hit her head and ribs?” Stitches asked. Solas nodded. 

“It wasn’t your fault.” Varric said softly, taking Maria’s calloused hand in his and squeezing. 

“Her ribs are broken, but I’ve set them the best I can. We’ve poured potions down her throat to speed healing, the larger concern is…” Solas continued.

“The brain. And she hasn’t woken?” Stitches asked. Solas hesitated only for a moment, stubbornly refusing to meet Varric’s eyes. 

“Only for a moment, she was very confused. She thought… Haven had only just been destroyed. She wanted to see you, my friend.” And with that, Solas’s eyes flicked just for a moment to Varric’s. “I put her to sleep myself. It seemed safer than to worry about her aggravating the injury.” 

“I’m here now.” Varric said softly, smoothing Maria’s hair back and kissing her pale forehead. “I’ve got you, Princess.” 

“Wise call.” Stitches said agreeably. “We’ll get the swelling under control and fix those ribs. I’m feeling optimistic, especially if she was awake once already. She’ll need to take time to recover right, though.” 

“We’ll make sure of it.” Varric promised. 


	42. The Lone Wolf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris and Hawke meet the Magister. Anders interrupts. The three begin to search for Varania .

_“A dog might slink back to the hand it has bitten_  
 _And be forgiven, but a slave never._  
 _If you would live, and live without fear, you must fight.”_  
Canticle of Shartan 9:7 (Dissonant Verses of the Chant of Light)

The Magister invited them to dinner and Fenris could not decide if it was ridiculous of her to ask or more ridiculous of them to accept. But a great table was set up in the courtyard and Fenris was able to watch from the curtained window as they placed great dishes and platters to the table. He could not hear the words, but the tone was certainly cheerful enough. He even heard some hushed laughter. He could not remember laughter ever occurring in Danarius’s estate except among the very young, those who had not learned to behave better. Ivy was among them, playing her role with the ability of a chameleon, then slipping away with the rest.

Tamar came to their door and Hawke asked how she would write to Varric. Tamar informed her that any letter would be put with Ivy’s reports and sent back to Skyhold. “Why not your diplomatic correspondence?” Hawke asked inquisitively as she sat at the table in the courtyard.

“My correspondence is read multiple times before leaving Tevinter. Only the most banal of information can be found within them. It is better to trust this letter to Ivy along with any useful intelligence.” Tamar said softly. “The magister has asked the servants to not disturb us.”

“Reasonable, I’m sure.” Hawke drawled. “Maker forbid it gets out who she has in her house.”

A throaty laugh came from behind them. Fenris shifted to his left, blocking Hawke’s chair as he turned. An extremely tall woman had emerged, coils of elegant blonde hair piled on her head, gems dripping from her throat and ears. She was wearing a colorful robe, open in the front to reveal a dress rather like the one Hawke was wearing, except it too was dripping with jewels. She was carrying a cat, which she sat down as she approached, teeth flashing. Hawke stood behind him, her hand resting on his shoulder.

“I would contradict you, but I must admit I’m little used to harboring guests of your notoriety.” The woman purred, sitting at the head of the table. “Sit, sit.” She gestured impatiently. “I won’t stand on ceremony. You know that I am Maevaris Tilani, I know you are the Lady Hawke and her paramour, the wolf of Seheron.”

“Fenris.” Hawke snapped. “Is my husband.”

“Ah, congratulations!” The magister smiled brilliantly. “Young love! Did you know, I was married to a cousin of your friend, Master Tethras? Thorold Tethras. He passed away several years ago, unfortunately. I appreciate that your friend didn’t dispute the inheritance, it was a kind thing to do for a widow.”

Fenris and Hawke shared a look as Tamar folded herself into the chair nearest the Magister. Doubtfully, Hawke began to lower herself down. Fenris took the chair furthest from the Magister on Hawke’s other side. The woman had grabbed a pitcher of wine, pouring herself a glass and sipping from it happily before offering it to Tamar. Tamar poured her own glass, then neatly poured two for Hawke and Fenris before placing them in front of them.

“I very much doubt Varric wanted to get tied up in a legal battle with a Magister. We’ve heard those go poorly.” Hawke said finally, staring suspiciously at the wine glass.

“Funny, Thorold used to say the same about the Merchant’s Guild.” The magister sighed, content. “But you are guests in my home. Please feel free to call me Mae.”

“Guests or prisoners?” Fenris asked stiffly. Tamar’s shoulders slumped.

“My dear, I have no intention of keeping you. In fact, the sooner you are on your way the happier I will be. I have brought you here because a dear friend asked me to and to sate my own curiosity.” Maevaris leaned forward, resting her chin on her elegant hands and staring at Hawke. “I must admit, you’re pretty in a way. Features are a bit pointed for my tastes, but your eyes are quite stunning with your hair. I don’t know if they’re quite the color of the sea, but pretty.”

“If you’re in the market, there’s a place in Kirkwall that’ll change any bits you want to. I’ve never risked it myself because the proprietor is a corpse, but…” Hawke said wryly, finally reaching for a tray of tiny stuffed mushrooms with an apologetic shrug in Fenris’s direction before popping one in her mouth.

“Well, you’re an impressive and distinctive couple. You…” The Magister looked at him, tilting her head introspectively. “I have not seen you in years. You accompanied Danarius to most senate meetings. Then you escaped and he sent hunters after hunters after you. All failed remarkably and he looked more and more a fool. The rumors swirled you’d taken up with the Champion of Kirkwall, a hedge mage that was completely untrained and swung from disaster to disaster, escaping by her own luck.”

Fenris felt his hands tightening into fists. “The Lady Hawke’s accomplishments are quite impressive, I assure you.” Tamar soothed. Hawke waved her away.

“Don’t. That’s the single most accurate summation of my life I’ve heard in years.” Hawke said wearily.

“You, Lady Hawke, occupied his thoughts as often as Fenris did. When he left, his plan was to bring you both back in chains.” And with this, Fenris almost shuddered. How differently could that fight have ended? And he had begged Hawke to come with him in the first place, too cowardly to face it alone. Hawke in chains in a ship bound to Minrathous. The thought made him ill. “I am most happy he did not succeed. The man was cruel and sadistic, the worst of Tevinter. He reaped exactly what he sowed.”

“Tevinter never stopped him.” Fenris growled, eyes glued to the table. Hawke’s hand slipped under the table, covering his shaking fist.

“I attempted to.” Maevaris said softly. “The experiment that gave you your powers has been outlawed, although I was not able to push the legislation through until his death. I had attempted to have him investigated…”

“For naught.” Fenris bit. “He had too much power and you had none because…”

And Maevaris laughed before Fenris could finish the sentence. “Because I refuse to take the power within my grasp. Oh, how often I’ve heard that. But… is it worth becoming a monster to kill the one hiding under the bed? One blood magic ritual to defeat this enemy makes it easier to do the next one. And then I am slitting the throats of children.” The magister took a large swallow of her drink, clinking the glass back down on the table. “You have a right to hate me and my kind, but do not hate me for what you find admirable in your wife.”

Hawke hissed, made to stand. “No.” Fenris mumbled, pulling her back. “She is...quite right. And if she has stopped others from being cursed with these marks, then I owe her a debt.”

“It is certainly helpful that Danarius’s estate was broken up after his death and sold to pay debts. No one Magister is in possession of his research.” Maevaris said kindly. “I cannot say for certain no one will go through what you have gone through, but I believe we have made huge strides.”

“Magister Tilani has accrued quite a motley crew of supporters from among the younger altus and those of less established lines.” Tamar jumped in cheerfully.

“It is not enough.” Fenris said, daring a glance into the Magister’s light blue eyes. She smiled ruefully.

“No, it is not.” She agreed. “But it is a start.”

“Perhaps they would like to be apprised on the challenges they face here?” Tamar asked politely.

“I cannot imagine you are not aware, but I will help clarify. Fenris, you are still considered property, since no documents freeing you were ever submitted.” And here, Hawke’s hand clenched around his. “However, since the death of Danarius, there were few interested in purchasing you. You, along with any other unpurchased property, reverted to the state. Legally, you are servus publicus. However, the Imperium is loathe to risk further public scrutiny to recover you. However, if you traipse around Minrathous…”

“I have the status of an escaped slave. If I was caught?” Fenris asked. Maevaris sighed.

“A typical escaped slave would be returned to the public barracks and punished accordingly. You, however, murdered two Magisters and have inspired ballads of heroic escaped slaves not seen since Shartan. I’m afraid the Senate would not allow you to live and there would be precious little I could do to save you.” Maevaris refilled her wine and pushed a plate of some sort of sugared fruit to Hawke, gone a shade pale. “Eat these and have more wine.” The magister soothed.

Fenris was not shocked, honestly, almost relieved. There would be no life in chains, no matter what. It was not something he wanted to say aloud in front of Hawke. He squeezed her hand back, nodding when she turned her frightened blue eyes to his. “I suspected that was the case.”

“Fenris.” Hawke hissed. “Maker, I thought I’d just have to rescue you if it went south.”

“There would be precious little chance to do so. They would not want to risk a public execution and see the elves rise up in your defense. It would be a quick execution behind tall walls and your body displayed somewhere later.” Maevaris continued. “As for you, Lady Hawke, I suspect your status may protect you if you were to survive any initial struggle. You would be used as a bargaining chip for favor with the Inquisitor. Since latest rumors suggest she is bedding Varric Tethras, I assume she would negotiate for your return.”  

“I cannot confirm those rumors.” Tamar chimed in pleasantly. “The Inquisition prefers to stay silent on the subject of the Inquisitor’s personal life.”

A double relief, even as Hawke covered her face with her hands. “This does not include the foreign rabble rouser who curses your name to every disaffected mage he finds. Your enemies are no longer simply magisters, but every paper pusher longing for glory. If you’ve come to stop him, allow me to state that he is far more likely to self-destruct before long. And after he attacked the city guard, he’s on Tevinter’s list as well.”

“That’s only part of it.” Hawke groaned.

“And what, may I ask, would be important enough to drag yourself and your wife into such danger?” Maevaris asked thoughtfully.

“Who.” Fenris corrected. Maevaris sucked in a breath, then swore.

“You have family. Of course. Stupid of anyone to assume… the stories we hear of you don’t mention anyone.” Maevaris stared into her wine. “I would gladly assist, if you would accept it.”

“As long as nothing else smells like roses.” Hawke mumbled.

 

Hawke finished her letter to Varric after dinner, then wordlessly stripped the bed of all it’s finery and made a small nest on the floor, collapsing into the fine blankets and pillows and holding one slim arm towards him. He felt a swell of unspeakable gratitude as he took her hand and allowed her to pull him down. “How did you know?” He asked, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

“Know what?” She asked innocently. “I just wanted to see if I could make you sleep on the floor with me.”

Fenris chuckled, pressing his lips against hers as Lucia settled beside Hawke, large head resting gently on her abdomen. Fenris patted the hound’s head affectionately and Hawke brought her fingertips up to his temple. “Should I bring you with me tonight?” She asked. She had asked every night without fail since the revelation that Anders had been stalking his dreams. Every night, Fenris said yes, but she asked regardless.

“Yes.” He answered simply, touching his forehead to hers. “But not yet, amata.”

Hawke nodded, tucking herself against his side like a vine, head on his chest. “I won’t let them take you, Fenris. Not now, not ever again.”

“I have faith in little, Reyna, but I do believe that.” He answered, fingers burying into the dark silk of her hair.

_And when he drifted off to sleep, he found himself in the Hawke homestead in Lothering as he usually did, with Hawke beside him. She was sitting instead of laying, a book in her hands. The tale of the champion, although she had never actually read the whole thing. “How in the Maker’s name did this get here?” Hawke murmured, observing the binding._

_“It is your dream, is it not?” Fenris asked. “It stands to reason that you brought it here.”_

_“Nobody likes a know-it-all, Fenris.” Hawke chided with a smile. “I can read it to you, but I’ve no idea if this is what Varric actually wrote or what I think he wrote.”_

_Children laughed from beyond the field and Hawke looked up with a quirk of a smile to catch the faintest glimpse of two dark haired children running in the forest beyond their clearing. Bethany and Carver, she’d explained once, or how she remembered them. Sometimes he could hear people in the cabin. A man and a woman, talking or singing or laughing. Her parents, most likely. Hawke admitted she’d tried to see them all, but when she opened the door there was no one there and she could never quite catch Carver or Bethany, only see them from a distance. Such was the fade._

_“Where does Lucia go when she dreams, do you think?” Hawke asked, laying the book beside her. It promptly vanished into nothingness. “Is there a version of the fade for Mabari? Is it full of rabbits and fresh bones?”_

_“Perhaps it is full of women asking inane questions.” Fenris grumbled. Hawke laughed, a deck of cards appearing in her hands._

_“Sick of dreaming of me already?” Hawke teased, tossing the cards between them and dealing them._

_“I would rather these dreams than the others.” Fenris admitted. Hawke frowned, her fingertips brushing his knuckles gently._

_A shadow fell over the sun and Hawke looked up, bewildered. Something had changed in the air, a feeling of crackling energy. Hawke was up in an instant, her staff in her grip as the edges of the dream began to blur and crack. At the border of the clearing, in the trees, a lone figure was motionless. Pale, sickly, but with amber eyes that looked crazed. The expression on his face as his eyes trailed over Hawke was hungry, from her face down her body...then…._

_Something changed, something fierce and angry jumped to life and he tore his eyes from Hawke to Fenris. And suddenly, he was more like Anders had been. Lean, but strong, full of good food from Hawke’s kitchen and bolstered by his cause. “Why have you brought her to this evil place? Why risk them? Have you no thought for anyone but yourself?” Anders asked, sounding almost incredulous. “You’re madder than I thought!”_

_“You are one to talk.” Fenris responded automatically, like a dance he’d only half forgotten. Hawke swore under her breath and slammed her staff down. Anders was thrown backwards into the woods, the clearing solidifying again. Hawke waited, like a lioness from Seheron. Nobody appeared._

_“I think he’s gone.” She said softly, shaking her head. “Maker, he looked awful.”_

_“What was he talking about?” Fenris asked, unable to sit back in the cool green grass._

_“I’ve no idea.” Hawke muttered. “I didn’t particularly care for the way he looked at me.”_

_Fenris did not particularly care for it either._

 

He awoke feeling ill-rested and Hawke was in a pique about an ache in her back. Nevertheless, they dressed simply and were ready when Ivy arrived. She took Hawke’s letter and slipped it into her breast pocket as she offered a tray of fruit and bread for breakfast. Hawke grumbled she wanted none, but Fenris helped himself as Ivy explained their destination.

She was certain she had identified the insulae in which Varania had been living, but the woman (his sister, he thought ruefully) had not returned in some time. The insulae, she explained for Hawke’s sake, were apartment buildings large enough to fit an entire alienage inside. There were several units she believed may have been Varania’s but had not attempted to enter any of them. She was certainly willing to do so with the two of them in tow. She wasn’t optimistic it would lead them to Varania, but it was the best chance they had.

So, dressed as simply as laborers, with light hoods thrown over their heads, the three of them slipped out of the Magister’s home by the back gates. Ivy guided them into the dark back alleys. Even here, Fenris could see people beginning to rise. Slaves dressed simply scurried past, intent on their own tasks. Someone was singing loudly from their left, an old song about lover leaving a basket of fruit on the steps.

_A woman with bright red hair and skin chapped from scalding water sloshed the filthy water out over the cobblestones. She was humming that song softly and looked up, weary, catching his eyes. Eyes as green as his. Her mouth formed a word, a name._

Fenris brought his hand up to his temple, pressing his knuckles against it. “Fenris?” Hawke questioned quietly.

“It is nothing.” He replied, letting his hand drop. Hawke pulled his hood further over his face with a wry smile.

“Of course. Nothing.” She repeated. “Let me know when nothing is too much, hmm?”

“You’re incorrigible.” Fenris observed. “Can you not leave me in peace?”

“You know the answer to that, amatus.” Hawke grinned, a flash of white teeth under her hood.

“If you’re both quite finished…” Ivy drawled, standing at the opposite end of the alley, arms crossed over her chest.

“Didn’t you hear him?” Hawke asked cheerfully. “I’m incorrigible, I’ll never stop.”

“Where did you find her?” Ivy asked, eyes flashing with suppressed humor. “Shite sense of humor.”

“Dubiously appropriate at best.” Fenris agreed quietly. “Would you believe she continued to flirt with me after I ripped a man’s heart from his chest upon first meeting?”

“And insane.” Ivy elbowed Hawke slyly. “What a catch you are, Champion.”

“I lived in a hovel and my only friends were a landlocked pirate, a dwarf who cheated at cards, the renegade apostate living in the sewers, a woman that reminded me of my mother, and the  blood mage foisted on me by the Dalish. I couldn’t afford to be picky.” Hawke shrugged.

“You forgot your brother.” Fenris answered. Hawke snorted in distaste.

“I thought I was talking about my friends.” She replied.

 

They finally arrived at their destination an hour later. The neighborhood around the insulae was crowded, beggars in tatters lingered outside. A whore leered at them with interest and a roaming merchant wandered past selling rat poison. Fenris wrinkled his nose at the stench of dead rats swinging from his pole.

Pushing through the crowd of people coming and going, Fenris slipped into the insulae behind Ivy. Mostly elves lingered inside, but none met their eyes as they pushed past. There was a set of rickety stairs going up the back of the building. “Fourth and fifth floor are where the units are.”

“Unsurprising. The first floor would be more expensive.” Fenris observed.

“ _Expensive?_ ” Hawke hissed. “This reminds me of darktown.”

Yes, Fenris thought glumly. If the entire Kirkwall alienage had been situated in the sewers, it would not have been so different. Still, he followed Ivy up the stairs silently, the floors becoming more deserted as they pressed onwards. On the fourth floor, only one woman with sunken eyes stared at them as she pushed down the stairs, hobbling on a cane. Ivy counted the doors on their left, then picked the lock on the third while Hawke and Fenris stood in front of her. The door popped open quickly and the three slipped into the dark room. It took a moment before their eyes adjusted to the darkness inside.

“Empty.” Ivy said, brushing her fingers across the dusty floor.

“How many are there?” Hawke asked quietly.

“Five units. Two more on this floor, then two upstairs.” Ivy said, standing. “Ready?”

The next unit had a dead body in it, a man composed mostly of skin and bones. Hawke had fled from the room and the smell, gagging into her hand. Fenris followed close at her heels. The final unit on the fourth floor had been full of various smuggled goods. Both women had made a small noise of pleasure as they examined the contents and Fenris had to drag them both up to the next floor.

The first unit on the fifth floor was obviously lived in. “Promising.” Ivy muttered. There was a threadbare carpet over the stained floorboards, but the rest of the small apartment was remarkably clean. There was a table with two chairs, scuffed in places and mismatched but without a trace of crumbs. A cup was on the counter near a wash basin with a bit of tea still left in the bottom. A loaf of bread, quickly growing moldy, was in the pantry and there were still ashes in the tiny, dented stove.

A curtain was hung across the space, separating the room. Fenris pulled it back as Hawke knelt before a chest. Ivy had her lockpicks out, but Hawke had her own set and smiled apologetically. “I’ve been practicing!” Hawke claimed. Ivy rolled her eyes.

There was a thin mattress on the floor, with a pretty coverlet overtop. It was thin, but embroidered with swirling designs of poppies. Fenris allowed his hands to trace the flowers as Hawke jingled the lock on the chest. “Pretty.” Ivy observed. “Too pretty for this shitehole.”

Fenris had to agree. Someone had tried to make the space clean and bright. Someone had spent hours bent over this blanket by the dim light of the stove. Ivy’s hand shoved under the mattress, emerging triumphantly with something wrapped in scrap cloth. “Feels like a book.” She observed, laying it on the mattress and unwrapping it. When Fenris saw the red binding, his heart stilled. Ivy’s hands hesitated so he brushed them impatiently aside, revealing the cover. The words embossed in the leather in silver gilt. The Tale of the Champion by Varric Tethras.

“What would she be doing with this?” Ivy asked, perplexed. “A book would be worth twice anything else in this apartment. Does she know…?”

“I did not know how to  read when I left Tevinter.” Fenris answered. “I doubt she did.”

“Well, hold on.” Ivy picked up the book, holding it over the mattress with the binding pressed into the bed and the covers in her palms. “Nightingale says opening it like this will make it fall to the last page she had it opened to.”

Fenris waited as Ivy removed her hands and let the pages fall. He could not break his stillness when the pages settled. The left page was full of words, he could see his name several times. The page on the right was a portrait, elegantly done in black and white. It was a face he knew from Hawke’s mirrors, his own face marred by the lines of lyrium, looking over an armored shoulder. The artist, whoever Varric had hired, had seen Fenris before. The likeness was too close to be left to chance. Even the way his hair fell was accurate. “Oh.” Ivy said softly.

Why? Why would his sister spend coin she obviously struggled to make on this? A book she most certainly could not read, and why would it fall open to his portrait? “I don’t understand why this is here.” Fenris said aloud. “I cannot fathom why…”

He was interrupted by Hawke swearing and the pull of mana, then the smell of burning metal. “What the fuck?” Ivy asked, confused.

“She’s grown frustrated and has burnt through the lock. It is how she solves the lockpicking dilema usually.” Fenris advised, allowing himself to reach out and touch his own image in the book as the hinges on the trunk sprung open. There was no reason for this, no reason beyond sentiment. And how little sentiment had Varania shown him in the past? She had been willing to throw him back to Danarius.

She had purchased a book for his portrait.

Fenris heard Hawke moving, slow and deliberate, the contents of the trunk shifting beyond the curtain. Ivy had left his side and had opened another trunk, this one unlocked, and was shifting through clothing. “Fenris.” Hawke called, and he heard her stand. Yet, he could not tear his eyes from the page and the implications of it.

“Fenris.” Hawke called again, gently. “I think… I think I know who Sabina is.”

This was enough to make him pull his eyes from the book, glancing at Hawke. Her eyes were sad, heavy with tears she was holding back for his sake, he suspected. Her face was pale, but her hands were steady. In them, she held two items. At first, he didn’t understand. The first item was a child’s doll made of cloth with dark yarn for hair, well worn. He could see deft stitches where it had been repaired at least once. The second item was an embroidered dress for the doll, made of scraps of fabric, but elegantly styled with orange thread against the purple cloth.

Then he did understand, and his eyes flicked immediately back to Hawke’s, who nodded. Ivy sighed, pulling out a tunic cut for a child, unfolding it in her hands and laying it on the mattress before looking up. A child, a girl child most likely. A niece. Hidden carefully, craftily. Hidden because…

“How old?” Fenris asked. Neither woman answered, so he asked again. Voice dropping lower into something Hawke would call menacing. “How old is she?”

“From her clothes? I’d guess…” Ivy cocked her head to the side, laying out a pair of leggings next to the tunic. “Four? Five?”

“Fenris…” Hawke was gently, softly placing the doll down. Because it was a child’s toy, a child’s toy that was loved and abandoned. Abandoned because it was no longer safe to return here. “You didn’t know. You couldn't have known.”

Fenris was busy doing math. It was 9:40 Dragon. Kirkwall had fallen in the last months of 9:37. Fenris had seen his sister six months prior, pale and frightened. If Ivy was correct, Varania had left a child of one or two years to come to Kirkwall. Little more than a helpless babe, perhaps a child that had not started walking. Hadriana would not have known when she told him of his sister. Danarius would have known when he followed her to Kirkwall.

And sickeningly, Fenris could see it in the fear on Varania’s face. He had thought it was fear of him. Perhaps he had been wrong. Perhaps it was fear that she would not return home to a small child who was crying for its mother, alone in Minrathous. “I nearly tore her heart from her chest like a monster.” Fenris said, interrupting the babbling coming from Hawke’s mouth that he wasn’t particularly listening to. “I would have, had you not stopped me.”

“You don’t know that.” Hawke soothed. But he did, he did know. He had only stopped because Hawke, his Hawke, had thrown herself between the two of them and had looked at him without fear.

“She has a child. Had a child. Did he know?” Fenris demanded of Hawke. “Did Danarius know? Is that truly why she led him to Kirkwall? Why would she not say? Why does she have this?” Fenris gestured wildly at the book on the mattress, his own face staring at him. Hawke followed his hand and her face softened even further.

“I don’t know.” She admitted. “But we’ll find out. I promise.”

“Reyna…” Fenris said her name hopelessly. “If this child is my niece, how often has she been endangered by my decisions?”

He knew Hawke would not lie, and he loved her for it as he took his hand. “Our decisions.” She corrected. “And I don’t know, but we’ll find them Fenris and we’ll...do something. We’ll make sure this doesn’t happen again.”

Ivy stood up, hand held out, eyes wide. Hawke and Fenris both went silent as Ivy unsheathed a dagger. Someone was walking into the apartment, footsteps slow and heavy. Fenris could hear someone wheezing. Fenris gripped Hawke, pulled her behind him as they waited. Then a hand covered with age spots appeared and ripped back the rest of the curtain, rheumy and red rimmed eyes staring at the three of them. Then a hacking laugh.

“Thought you’d never show, I did. Thought she was lying about who she was.” The woman leaned back on an old cane, eyes tracing the lyrium in his skin. Her hair was white and stringy and she was ancient for a liberati. “The lone wolf returns for his pack at last, hm?"


	43. Tower of Cards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maria Cadash awakes. Solas feels guilty. A tower of cards topples.

Stitches poured a mixture of foul smelling herbs down Maria’s throat and ensured she swallowed. He nodded, satisfied, as he listened to her heart and checked her pulse. Then he left the two of them alone with Solas just outside. “You can rest Chuckles.” Varric offered. Maker, he was exhausted himself. A part of him felt the need to take apart Bianca, clean the gears and oil the wood. Methodical, meticulous work he could do in his sleep. He was afraid once he took it apart, his hands would shake too badly to put it back together. 

“I would prefer to stay here.” Solas answered from outside. Varric could see his dim shadow cross legged through the canvas. He was quiet for a moment, before he continued. “She is not what I expected. She has surprised me each day since she awoke after the breach.” 

“She’s surprised the world, Chuckles.” Varric leaned against the canvas of the tent, taking her hand in his and smoothing his thumb over her soft skin, the calluses on her fingers. Archer’s calluses. 

“I asked her sister. If the mark had...changed her. If it had affected her personality, her judgement.” Solas paused, thoughtful. “She said no, that Maria was just a damn hero and always had been.” 

“Sounds exactly like something Beatrix would say.” Varric observed. 

“I asked the Inquisitor. She said she would hardly know if it changed her one way or the other, but she didn’t think it had.” 

“And that sounds like Maria.” Varric muttered.

“You are the only one that calls her Maria beyond her family, Master Tethras.” Solas responded thoughtfully. 

“Curly did. Once.” 

“Were we at risk of imminent death?” Solas asked with a hint of a smile. 

“Admittedly, there were red templars swarming Haven. He may not have been in his right mind.” Varric felt a rush of bitter, furious anger sweep through him. “And she saved our asses then. How many more times are we going to put her in the line of fire?” 

Solas was silent for several long moments. “I fear there will be more danger in her future than can be foreseen. She will not be an easy woman to love.” The elf whispered. “I would hate to see either of you break your hearts, my friend. She has been called by the Maker, or fate, or sheer chance to serve destiny’s whims.” 

“A fickle bitch, fortune.” Varric swore, tightening his grip on her hand. 

“And unkind to heroes.” Solas’s voice was mournful. “She will fall, someday.” 

“So I’ll be here when she does.” Varric answered harshly. “And I won’t let her.” 

 

Varric did not remember falling asleep, although he must have. He was woken up by Stitches entering the tent and had to struggle not to curse the crick in his neck as the man worked silently over Maria. “She’ll wake today, I’d bet solid gold on it.” Stitches pronounced. “Probably before we even make it back to Skyhold. We can’t have her aggravating her head wound, though.”

“Healer’s orders?” Varric asked and Stitches grinned. 

“Healer’s orders.” He confirmed. “The Inquisitor needs to rest or she’ll be no good to us.” 

They had rigged a cart and Cassandra was the one who very gently picked up the Inquisitor  and shouldered her weight into the cart. “Bull could’ve done it.” Varric said as he climbed up. 

“Yes.” Cassandra answered. “But… I feel more comfortable if I watch over her. Or less helpless. Whatever works. Besides, she is not as dense as you are.” 

Varric couldn’t suppress his surprised chuckle although he wasn’t sure if Cassandra had even meant to make the joke. She tucked a blanket around Maria silently, then looked up. 

“I have been unfair to you.” She blurted out. “No matter what your motives for coming to the Inquisition, it is clear why you stay. I cannot fault you for it.” 

“Seeker, that may be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” Varric wasn’t completely feigning his shock. Cassandra rolled her eyes. 

“I wonder why.” She asked, then vanished. The big black horse Maria rode was the one pulling the cart and it whickered softly at him before Solas climbed onto it, patting it’s shiny neck and beginning to trot gently forwards.

Maria awoke after about two hours. Two hours he’d spent listening to Sera and Iron Bull plot more and more ludicrous ways to kill people. The small groan from Maria was a mercy on many counts. 

“Chuckles, stop the damned horse.” Varric called, leaning over her form. “Stitches!” 

Maria’s hand had flown to her head, and it was the bare hand with the mark sparking and spitting. And Varric didn’t know much, but he was sure the last thing her head needed was to be pressed up against that blasted thing. He gripped her hand with his and pulled it back gently, murmuring reassuringly. Her eyes popped open, gray reflecting the blue sky above them. “Varric?” She questioned. 

“Nice of you to join us.” Varric said easily, squeezing her hand. Even through the leather of his glove, he could feel the thrum of magic. Constant and somewhat reassuring. “Thought you’d sleep through the rest of this delightful conversation.” 

Bull was peering over the cart, blocking out the sun with his massive horns. “Boss!” He exclaimed brightly. “Do you think Sera could do a backflip off my horns?” 

Maria blinked, once, then twice, before she tried to sit up. This brought to her attention the broken ribs which caused her to gasp and hiss as she sat, looking down at herself. Stitches was clambering onto the cart, all business. “Look here, Inquisitor.” He ordered, taking her chin in his hands. “I need you to follow my finger.” 

“Wait, what…” Maria yanked her chin from his fingers and winced, her free hand traveling to her head. 

“No sudden movements.” Stitches barked. “Nasty blow you took.” 

“From what?” Maria asked, perplexed. 

“Memory loss is common.” Stitches reassured. 

“Giant backhanded you into a wall.” Iron Bull offered helpfully. “In the Emerald Graves, but I got him for you boss.” 

“How’d you know it wasn’t a lady giant?” Sera squawked. “Coulda been. You said your lady qunari are big too.” 

“When was this?” Maria asked, allowing Stitches to grab her chin and following his finger with her eyes. 

“Three days ago.” Cassandra answered, standing at the end of the cart with Solas. 

“Rushing, running, blurred and bright. She doesn’t remember.” Cole clarified. Stitches dropped her chin and began rooting for something in his pack. Varric squeezed Maria’s hand and drew her gaze to his. Cool grey eyes warmed and her lips quirked into a small smile. 

“Just glad you’re alright, Princess. We’ll fill in the missing pieces.” He promised, leaning forward to capture her lips. 

Maria leaned back quickly, cocking an eyebrow up in confusion. “What are you doing?” She asked. 

Everyone stopped what they were doing, staring agog at the two of them. Varric felt his own heart stop and he quickly dropped her hand, leaning back. Cassandra’s hand lifted to her mouth in shock and Sera laughed before she was quickly shushed. Even Solas’s eyes were as large as pies. 

“I…” Varric started, then changed. “We… shit.” 

Her mouth twitched and it was the first thing that gave her away before she descended into laughter that shook her whole body and she pressed her hands against her ribs protectively. 

“You’re evil.” Varric accused. “Herald of Andraste, my ass. What’s that Dalish god they all hate? Maybe you belong to that one.” 

“The look on your face.” She gasped, wiping a tear from her eyes. “Priceless.” 

“Inquisitor.” Cassandra couldn’t help it, even she was smiling. “I’m not sure that was appropriate.” 

“You loved it.” Maria grinned broadly even as Varric shook his head. 

“Fen’harel.” Solas answered quietly. “That’s the Dalish God of Tricksters.” The poor elf had a stricken look on his face. 

“Guilt. Glowing green gone…” Cole whispered. 

“Solas feels bad he got you chucked against the wall in the first place.” Iron Bull explained sympathetically. 

“Oh Solas…” Maria laughed, holding out her unmarked hand. “How many times have you saved my ass? I’ve still got to repay you for not letting me die at Haven.” 

Solas took her hand with a wry smile, holding it softly. “I admit, my motives were not entirely altruistic at that particular moment.” 

“With Cassandra threatening to kill us all? Whose were?” Varric retorted.

“We should keep moving.” Cassandra interjected quickly. “Unless we care to reminisce all day.” 

“Just don’t want us talkin’ shite on you.” Sera added gleefully, climbing half up on the cart and planting a sloppy kiss on Maria’s cheek. “Glad you’re up, Quizzie.” 

Solas lingered only a moment before nodding and walking to the horse, stroking it’s broad neck. Stitches pressed a potion into Maria’s hand and waited until she swallowed all of it. “For the ribs.” He explained. “Mostly healed now, but they’ll be sore for a bit. How much time are you missing?” 

“I remember getting to the camp at Direstone, but I don’t remember leaving.” Maria admitted. 

“About six hours or so. We found the red templars and a giant. It was unfortunate timing.” Cassandra scowled. “I was… when you fell and did not move I….” 

“Hey Cass, it’s alright.” Maria soothed. “Looks like you took good care of me, and everyone else is one piece. I’ve even got people here I left at Skyhold.” 

A pink flush rose to Cassandra’s eyes as she looked at Varric, then back at Maria and dropped her eyes to the ground. “I suspect it would have been difficult to keep him away.” 

“As hard as keeping his mouth shut?” Maria asked with a giggle. 

“I spent the whole night on a horse for you. Didn’t even complain once.” Varric placed his hand over his heart. “I’m wounded at the lack of appreciation.” 

“Oh shush.” Maria chided, her soft palm cupping his cheek with a small smile. “I’m glad to see you. I’ve missed you.” 

He turned his cheek, brushing his lips over the inner part of her wrist where her pulse thrummed strongly. When his eyes met her, he could almost make out himself reflected in their depths. “I know it may be a lot to ask, but can you try to keep the death defying heroics to a minimum? For the sake of the stomach ulcers I’m developing.” 

“You know, the healers would tell you to lay off ale if you start complaining about ulcers.” Maria smirked. “And we all know you won’t do that.” 

“Damnit it Maria.” Varric growled, nipping at the delicate skin stretched between her thumb and pointer finger. “What am I going to do with you?” 

“If you’re looking for suggestions, I know an apostate in Orlais who makes this thing... ” Iron Bull trailed off suggestively. Maria began, to laugh again, so hard she had to brace herself on the side of the cart. 

“Maker’s ass.” She panted, wiping her eyes as Sera and Bull began to bicker again while Solas and Cassandra looked on warily and Cole hummed under his breath. “They’re like children.”

“They bicker, fuss, and cause mayhem like children.” Varric observed. 

“I’d be lost without them.” She whispered, leaning gingerly to kiss his cheek. She smelled like home.  “But especially lost without you.” 

 

She insisted on riding her horse into Skyhold by persuasively arguing that the last thing the faithful needed to see was their Inquisitor half-naked in a horse cart, even if it was nearly midnight. Gingerly, she tugged a tunic over her bandages and Iron Bull lifted her gently into her saddle. As soon as she was across the bridge, Varric was at her side demanding she come down. 

Iron Bull helped her and Blackwall was there in a moment, worry creasing his brow as he took the horse. “My lady…” He began in his gravelly voice. “It is good to see you return.” 

“Of course I did.” Maria answered breezily. “Where else would I go?” 

And the man cracked a smile, half relief and half adoration before Maria turned and sauntered toward the main keep. Varric shook his head as he followed, Solas on Maria’s other side and Cassandra behind them. Josephine, Leliana, and Cullen were waiting on the steps. 

“Inquisitor.” Leliana said with a grin. “It is good to see you.” 

“We were afraid you were rather more injured than you appear.” Josephine responded. Cassandra scoffed. 

“She has broken four of her ribs, cracked her skull, and has a concussion.” Cassandra elbowed Leliana out of the way. “She should not be working.” The advisors folded in around them as they approached the Inquisitor’s quarters. 

“Maker’s breath, I’m not sure she should be walking with that list.” Cullen rubbed his forehead. 

“You all are aware she is short, but still right here.” Maria broke in wryly. 

“Surely only a few reports of diplomatic matters.” Josephine said sweetly. “To read while she’s in bed.” 

“Absolutely not.” Solas broke in. “Rest is key to a successful recovery.” 

“They’re being outrageous, Josie, what is it?” Maria asked, reaching out to take papers Josephine tucked quickly into her hands. Varric swore, wrapping one arm around Maria’s waist. 

“There are urgent matters in Nevarra…” Leliana trilled. “It will only take a moment.” 

Varric sighed, manhandling Maria into her staircase before turning and glaring at the three advisors. Cullen raised his hands in the air peacefully and stepped back, so he fixed his gaze on the two women instead. “Nightingale, I’ll tell you what. I’ve got Bianca here, and she’s feeling a bit snippy. If you have any work for the Inquisitor, feel free to send your quickest agent up to her rooms. We’ll give them some practice in dodging crossbow bolts.” 

“There is a strong possibility they’ll have to first slip past me.” Cassandra replied wryly. 

“I will obtain medicines and bring them myself, personally.” Solas said with an incline of his head. “Perhaps when I return, I’ll ward the staircase.” 

With that, Varric slipped into the staircase and slammed the door shut. It took his eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness and see Maria sitting halfway up the steps, holding her ribs. “Done threatening my advisors?” She asked brightly. 

“For now.” Varric answered easily, joining her in seconds. “Too many steps, Princess?” 

“I always forget just how many there are. It’s a travesty, really.” Maria admitted. With a huffed laugh, Varric leaned over her.

“I’ll carry you.” He offered gallantly. Maria laughed.

“Up all these damn stairs?” She questioned. “Maker, you’re mad.” 

“It will be a manly demonstration of my strength after watching Blackwall stare after you with puppy eyes, come on.” He cajoled. Maria stood, leaning into him as he swept her feet from under her. He allowed himself a moment to adjust to her weight, then began walking. 

“You do realize I’m only allowing this out of scientific curiosity. To see if you really can carry me up all these steps.” She whispered into his ear. “I could make it up here by myself.” 

“You’d pass out and they’d find you on the landing.”  Varric grumbled. “Here lies the Herald of Andraste, too stubborn for her own damn good.” 

“I couldn’t think of anything I’d rather have on my tombstone. What about yours?” She teased. 

“Varric Tethras. Author, Adventurer, Sucker.” He answered, pressing his lips against her temple and clutching her just a bit harder to his chest. She lapsed into thoughtful silence, her head tucked on his shoulder. Her fingers were twisting into the fabric of his shirt. 

“You forgot romantic.” She finally teased as he reached the landing. 

“Speaking of…” He grinned. “Finished Cassandra’s book while you were gone.” 

“And the contract with the Merchant’s Guild?” She purred. 

“Done, as requested.” He climbed the last few stairs, then settled Maria back on her feet with a flourish and a courtly bow. “As commanded. If you want to review it, I’d recommend doing so without a concussion and when you have three days to do so.” 

“Oh shut it.” Maria grinned. “It can’t have been that bad.” 

“They left a gift box of dried nug here for you. There were at least thirty attempts to rob you blind, a dozen to tie you into an arranged marriage, six to absorb the Cadash branch of the Carta into the guild, and three to marry me. Give me Josephine’s report, you can deal with it tomorrow morning.” 

She handed it over without argument, which was a plus, but her eyes were narrowed. “Maker’s ass, who is trying to marry us off?” 

“I’ll give you a full list in the morning.” He chuckled. “Typical guild nonsense. I’m thinking of getting you a seat.” 

“False threat.” She said smugly. “Not even the great deshyr Tethras could make a Carta rat into a great guild lady.” 

“That sounds like a challenge, Mistress Cadash.” Varric raised an eyebrow. “And I love a challenge.” 

Maria collapsed into her bed gingerly, favoring her ribs, still fully clothed. “Don’t I know it.” She mumbled. “Maker, I’m tired. Will you stay with me tonight?” 

Every night, Varric thought. It was quite unlikely he’d let her take off without him again, not after this. She was pulling off the tunic, revealing the bandages wrapping her from navel to underarm. A cold sensation prickled his neck. Solas’s voice in the cold night air. She will fall.  _ She will fall. _ A prediction of disaster, but how many times could one woman limp away from danger? 

And yet, the words stuck in his mouth. I love you, he thought desperately as she tugged her boots off. He’d loved her since she rose from the ashes of Haven like a phoenix. Nobody else could have done it but the impossible, impressive, immovable Maria Cadash. Nobody could have done it but the Herald of Andraste. And who was he to love the divine? 

“Varric?” She asked and he shook his head, trying to clear it. 

“As long as you want, Princess.” He answered, sitting his crossbow beside her desk. “As long as you want.” 

 

He woke up hours later in Maria’s opulent bed, the space beside him empty and the fire crackling in the grate. He sat and caught sight of Maria on the carpet in front of the fire. There was a plate of crackers and cheeses, about half eaten, and a glass of something that looked suspiciously like spiced ale. One of the blankets was wrapped around the Inquisitor’s pale shoulders as she carefully, silently, stacked a deck of playing cards into a pyramid. He watched her hand begin the third row without trembling, steady and sure. 

“Who started the fire and brought food?” He asked after she placed the card. She looked up, smiling. 

“You know, I’m never quite sure. I suspect Cole, but sometimes I think Sera breaks in here and leaves me presents. They’re usually less helpful than this, though, so I think Cole.” Maria answered, picking up the next card. “I didn’t wake you, did I?” 

“You should be in bed.” He scolded, slipping off the mattress himself. “What’s wrong?” 

“This fade shit. You know, I used to be a little jealous of humans and elves dreaming. That was a mistake. Dreams are highly overrated. I should send a letter to Orzammar stating that.” Maria scowled at her cards. 

“Bad dream, then?” Varric guessed. 

“They’re never good.” Maria sighed, pushing her hair behind her ear and and looking up at him. In the firelight she looked softer than usual, the lines of her face blurred into the gold light. “It bothers me, I can’t remember what happened.” 

“Well, Princess…” Varric sank down to his knees beside her. “You were trying to sneak around the giant and stumbled tits first into the red templars. Ensuing commotion drew the giant. Giant tried to kill you, red templars tried to kill you. You distracted the giant from Solas and ended up getting tossed into a wall for your trouble. It could have happened to anyone.” 

Maria huffed in exasperation. “Yes. I get it, but there must have been a sign. Something I could have done differently to prevent it. If I knew, if I could remember, I could do better next time.” 

“Maria…” Varric began gently. “It wasn’t your fault.” 

“Varric,” She responded just as reasonably. “I had the bad luck to end up in charge. Everything is my fault.” 

“Stop it.” He ordered as she sat one more card on her tower. “You’ll drive yourself mad if you keep this up.” 

“You don’t understand.” She persisted, continuing to work on her tower. “It was my choice to go that way. My decision to only take three people to the Emerald Graves. I ordered the siege at Adamant, I left Stroud behind in the fade, I sent the Grey Wardens packing, and it was me Corypheus wanted when he attacked Haven. Every choice I make weighs someone’s life in the balance, but it’s not always mine. Solas nearly ended up killed and he feels bad that I took the blow I placed him in front of.” She shook her head in disgust. 

“I suspect Chuckles just enjoys feeling guilty.” Varric replied as Maria placed the final card on top of her tower. Nearly as tall as she was when she sat. Isabela would be impressed, right before she knocked it down. 

“And even getting myself killed would be a mistake. Solas, Vivienne, and Dorian are all apostates, and the only one with any friends outside the Inquisition is Vivienne and she’s nearly as many enemies. Solas may do okay, but Dorian is a stranger and people hate him just because of where he’s from. Don’t ask me how, but somehow you and I have adopted Cole and Maker knows what would happen to him without us. Cassandra and Leliana are branded heretics, Cullen is withdrawing from lyrium, and Josephine has staked her entire reputation on this and her family is so in debt that’s all she has. I don’t care for how Par Vollen is using Bull, and if Sera wasn’t under my umbrella somebody would be looking for her to have her swing. Blackwall spends his spare time pining after me and I’ve no idea what to do about it without hurting his feelings…” 

“Maria, Maria!” Varric interrupted, laughing. “Befriending and hosting a bunch of misfits from across Thedas doesn’t make you responsible for solving their life problems.” 

“It just… it just feels…” She paused, thoughtful, then lightly pressed her thumb against one of the cards standing in the bottom row. The whole tower of cards folded into itself, scattering in front of her. “It feels like that.” 

“I’m not on your list? Of people that’d be lost without you?” He teased gently. Some of the cards had landed precariously close to the fire, he reached out to shove them away. Maria was silent, and when he looked to her she was staring at him. Flames were reflected in her eyes, burning inside them. 

“I have to believe you’d be okay, no matter what. You’d talk your way out of it, or Hawke would stumble in and pull you out of the shithole at the last moment, then you’d write a story about it. I have to believe that, or I couldn’t…” She stopped, looking away at the cards in front of her knees. “If I thought you wouldn’t survive me, I couldn’t keep going like this. With you.” 

“Maria…” He began hopelessly, but she covered her grief with a smile as she began to gather the cards. 

“Just promise to take care of Cole if I don’t come back someday, right? At least that’ll be one I don’t have to worry about.” She asked brightly. 

“I promise.” Varric lied, because that’s what she wanted. Varric knew his own heart, and he knew he wasn’t one to get over lost love easily. Survive physically after Maria? Maybe. Emotionally… well, that was a different story. 


	44. Varania

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris searches for his sister and blows his cover.

The old woman collapsed so thoroughly into one of the spindly chairs at the table that Fenris was honestly shocked it didn’t crumble beneath the weight. He even saw Hawke’s hands reach out automatically to prevent it before tucking themselves uselessly into her pockets. Ivy didn’t lower her daggers, although she did look a bit more hesitant. As if she couldn’t decide if she was being pranked or if it was an elaborate trap. Before any of them could decide, the old woman snapped her fingers and glared suspiciously at Hawke. 

“Pull your hood down girl and let me have a look at you.” The old woman ordered. “Like to see the face from all the ballads sometime before I die, if you please.” 

Hawke shot a look at Fenris, but her fingers were already at the scrap of cloth covering her hair, pulling it down and letting her dark hair fall loose over her shoulder. The woman made a noise of irritation. “Too pale.” She muttered. “Don’t spend enough time in the sun, girl.” 

“I burn.” Hawke defended herself crossly. “Bet I won’t get as wrinkled as you.”  

The woman laughed, which quickly turned into a wracking cough. Hawke frowned, looking to the counter before moving to the basin and the half-filled pitcher beside it. “Reyna…” Fenris warned as she slipped from his side.  

“If it’s an ambush, it’s the damn saddest one I’ve ever seen.” Hawke observed, opening up a cupboard and pulling a clay mug from it, splashing water into the cup and presenting it quickly to the old woman. “Here.” She said, pressing it into her hands. “Are you ill? I have some things here...” Hawke tugged her bag from her side, hands delving into it.  

The woman looked at Hawke shrewdly now, eyes lively in her face. “Now I see it.” She said, her wrinkled old hand patting Hawke’s wrist gently. “Old bones, girl. Nothing worse than that. Except perhaps never experiencing them. May you live to feel them ache too.” 

“How do you want to play this?” Ivy asked conversationally. “She could be an enemy.” 

Hawke snorted in disbelief and Fenris felt his lips quirk. He held a hand out to Ivy and looked at the old woman who was staring at him with avid interest. The interest made his temporary amusement fade. “Do you know me?” 

The woman tipped her head to the side like a great owl. “I knew a woman who passed years ago, may she walk at the Maker’s side. I knew a small boy named Leto and his sister as a babe in her mother’s arms. Then I was sold to another estate, and did not meet you again. I met your mother many years later as a freed woman, and she told me Leto had died. Varania said the same until only a few days ago.” 

Dead. Fenris’s head ached, but there was a question he had to ask if he had this opportunity. “Her name. Leto’s mother, what was her name?” 

The old woman’s eyes softened and she smiled, sadly. “Eleni. Her name was Eleni.” 

It was as if something had snapped in his head. A rush of color and sound, and Hawke was standing, his name in her mouth then…

_ His hands were in the dirt of the Master’s garden, pulling weeds from the soil. He rose his arm, tanned but unblemished from the lyrium that would scar him, and wiped the sweat from his brow before looking behind him at the paler, smaller child napping in the grass. He was to watch her for mother, make sure she didn’t get into trouble, but now she was sleeping in the hot sun. He would need to move her soon, but he had time to continue pulling weeds first.  _

_ His fist closed around another weed, but when he pulled it he stopped short at the sight before him. The Master was before him, studying him. Quickly, he dropped his eyes and the weeds, staring at the stones beneath his knees. “And who are you?” The man asked, voice icy with amusement.  _

_ “L...Leto, Master.” He stammered, barely hearing his own voice above his hammering heart.  _

_ “And this is?” He gestured to Varania, laying on the smooth stones, baby soft skin red in the heat. So very small and his responsibility. Mother said… _

_ “My sister, it is my fault she is in your way. I thought if she slept there I could finish… the flowerbeds… a moment, Master, I will wake her.” He gestured helplessly at them.  _

_ “Unnecessary.” The Master said smoothly with a dark chuckle. “Are you a very brave lad, Leto? It seems you are.”  _

_ “I…” He did not know the correct answer and looked up for a hint. The Master was staring down at him with something that looked like pleasure.  _

_ “Perhaps you should train with the guards. You’d make a pretty one.” The Master drawled. “What is your mother’s name?”  _

_ This, this was a question he knew the answer too, even though a pocket of dread opened in his stomach. Would mother be punished because he let Varania sleep in the Magister’s garden? He dared not refuse the request, however, not with the Master towering over Varania’s small form. “Eleni, Master. My mother is Eleni who works in the laundry.”  _

_ “I will speak to her about starting your training.” The Master said, then looked at him pointedly, as if he expected gratitude.  _

_ “Thank you, Master.” Leto said, dropping his eyes back to the pavement and looking from the corner of his eye as the man stepped over Varania.  _

“Fenris!” Hawke was panicking, and her panic was the only thing that could draw him back. He was on his knees, but so was she, her pale hands cradling his chin, concern marking every feature on her face. He used her face to ground him back in this moment, the clear blue of her eyes, the gentle press of her nails. And he waited for the memory to fade, as they always had. The space of one breath, another exhale and inhale, but the colors in his mind didn’t fade. He stared into Hawke’s eyes and brought one hand up to cover hers. 

“I remembered. I was weeding the garden and Varania was sleeping. I can still remember it, Reyna.” He said solemnly. “Danarius was much younger, but he passed me by and asked my mother’s name. I was frightened, for them, Varania and my mother.” 

“So it’s true?” The woman asked. “I thought she was mad, but you have Eleni’s eyes and you look so like what that boy could have been. Except for the hair, your hair was as dark as your lady’s then.”

“What happened? Where is Varania?” Ivy demanded, finally sheathing her knives. The woman sighed, staring down at the ground, and spun a story. 

The old woman’s name was Melusine. She too had been a laundress and had known Eleni all her life, but her true skill had been watching children. When this had been noticed, she had been placed in charge of seeing to the needs of Danarius’s youngest apprentices. In preparation, she suspected, to oversee a nursery. However, there was no marriage for the man and she was sold to a family with a large nursery, where she raised the heirs. They had freed her when they inherited the estate, in gratitude for her care. She drew a small pension and supplemented her income by watching the children of the insulae. 

She had connected with Eleni after that woman had been freed with her daughter, but no Leto. When Melusine had asked after nearly six months, she had cried that the boy was dead. Murdered. And Melusine knew Danarius’s household, and did not doubt the fate of the boy. 

When Eleni died, Varania had disappeared into service of another Magister. Melusine had seen her from time to time and had been aware of a child born to her, but did not speak often to her until Varania moved down the hall with a bright three year old. And while Varania hawked her wares in the market, Melusine often watched the little girl. 

“Sabina?” Hawke asked softly. 

“Yes. A pretty name, a pretty child. Dark haired and tanned, like you were, with Eleni’s eyes. She’ll break hearts when she’s older, mark my words. She’s got magic.” Melusine continued. “Didn’t even know Varania had magic until the first time I saw that little girl create ice in the fountain. How your mother kept that secret in that wicked house is beyond me. If the Magister had known…” 

“He’d have killed her for his blood magic.” Fenris finished. And the words felt familiar in his mouth, as if he’d said them a hundred times. 

“How old is she? Five?” Hawke asked, crossing her arms over her chest. 

“Four, but five in a few months.” Melusine answered, waving her hand. “I’m too old to remember the date.” 

“Is that early? For magic?” Ivy asked dubiously. Hawke shrugged. 

“I nearly lit a bed on fire when I was four, but Bethany didn’t show anything until she was nearly six. My friend, Merrill, was five and Anders was seven. She’s on the early end, but not unusually so. The first signs are faint, usually. A child isn’t strong enough to do any substantial damage until they’re ten at least.” She answered. 

“The child could have joined the circle, been trained properly. Even risen up the ranks. But Varania was adamant that Sabina could not. She warned the child away from magic in public and I haven’t seen a whiff of it since. I’ve never seen Varania do magic, either, but there was a staff she carried to and from the market. A cheap thing, more a walking stick than stave. I think it was for if she was robbed.” Melusine stroked her chin thoughtfully. “Only thing the woman had on her when she came that day.” 

“The last day you saw her.” Ivy stated. “What happened then?” 

“I had taken the children to the fountain to play, I usually do around noon if my joints don’t ache too badly. We’d been there not more than twenty minutes when Varania rushed into the square. Her hair was a mess, dress singed, that cheap staff in her hand. She asked if anyone had been there, if anyone had seen Sabina or asked where she was. She was hysterical, there was a burn on her arm. I tried to get her to sit, but she wouldn’t. She said she had to go, to find some way out of the city, that someone was after her.” 

“I asked her what had happened, and finally she said her brother was not dead, that the warrior with enough power to fell a Magister, the one we’d been hearing tales of for years was him. I called her a fool and a liar, but she made me promise to never tell. She said an enemy of yours was searching for Sabina, had found out about her and that if she didn’t give her to him, this man would turn them over to the authorities.” 

“For what?” Hawke asked indignantly. Melusine fixed her eyes on Hawke and glared. 

“Girl, keep your tongue. I suspect Varania has much to fear, that there is a very good reason she did not want the child trained in the circle.” Melusine snapped. 

“Is she even still in the city?” Hawke asked impatiently. 

“Stop.” Ivy said, lifting her hands up. “Who is the girl’s father? Do you know?” 

“I suspect the man who fathered that little girl is a slave. Who he belongs to, I know not.” Melusine finished gravely. 

“Fasta vass!” Fenris swore. “Of course. It explains so much.” 

“What?” Hawke asked insistently. “I don’t understand.” 

“Varania is probably still in the city because she is a free woman, but her child is not. The children in Tevinter take their status, freed or slave, from their father. It allows Magisters, if they please, to raise up their bastards foisted on slaves. Whoever owns Sabina’s father owns Sabina, regardless of her mother’s status. Varania’s only option would be to purchase her own child.” Ivy explained gently. 

“As if that is an option.” Melusine said darkly. “The money needed to purchase a slave would be more than she could hope to obtain. And that’s if the Magister agreed to sale. There are many children here like Sabina, they simply do not exist. They have no papers, they have no status because the only one available to them is slavery. 

“She can’t get out of the city. Not by herself, not with the child.” Fenris said. “Where would she go?” 

“I asked. She did not say. To be honest, I am not sure she knew herself. Her only option would be the smugglers, but the coin they would charge... “ Melusine sighed. “She said you may come. If you knew your enemies were working against you, it may lead you to her door. She asked I deliver a message if you did.” 

“What is it?” Fenris asked, dreading the answer. The woman straightened her spine, looking directly into his eyes. 

“Leave this place. Do not search for her, do not risk anything more than you have. You owe her nothing and she will not be in your debt after what she has done. That’s it. That’s all I was to tell you.” 

“That’s not fucking helpful. We are not leaving without them.” Hawke stated emphatically.

“If she doesn’t want to be found, it’s not up to you to risk your neck.” Ivy argued. 

“Fenris.” Hawke pleaded, taking his hand. “We can’t leave them here, they’re your family. We’ll take the Magister’s help and get them out of this place. We’ll figure out the rest later.” 

Fenris looked to Hawke, as he had been doing for years. Her lips were pressed thin, hand wrapped around his. “I’m with you. We can do this.” She declared, as easily and freely as she always had. 

“You must have some idea of how to find her.” Fenris turned to Melusine, and the older woman smiled. 

“Ah, your mother would be so pleased. Some of the other children, particularly the older ones, they get around and they know Sabina. I will ask if they have seen her, if they can try to find her. Perhaps we will be lucky. Where can I find you to get a message?” She asked, creaking back up on her flimsy cane. 

Ivy relayed a rather elaborate system of requesting a meeting involving geometric symbols scratched into certain bricks near the market, but Melusine nodded and repeated the instructions back precisely. Hawke turned back to the chest, gathering up some more of the spare belongings. Several embroidered dresses for the doll, a whittled bird, a shiny bit of rock (dawnstone, he thought) affixed to a leather cord, and a pouch full of several glass beads from a broken bracelet. Then she took that, the doll, and the book and wrapped them in the red coverlet, tying it efficiently in a knot. “This is how we fled Lothering, you know. Everything we had that was precious wrapped up in blankets. Maker...” Hawke’s fingers were shaking as she tied the knot and pressed the palm of her hand against her the bundle. “The poor thing must be terrified, Fenris.” 

“Varania is a mage. She is not defenseless, at least.” Fenris tried to assure. 

“That is less of an advantage here, I suspect, than it was in Kirkwall or Ferelden.” Hawke commented, picking up the bundle. “Let’s go.” 

 

Ivy used her connections to scour the city while Melusine used the children in her care. Each morning, Hawke and Fenris would wake and dress before scouring the city themselves. But Minrathous was a warren of alleys and slums, grand palaces, temples, squalid sewers. Hawke was in awe of the grander surroundings. Once, they had walked to the very walls themselves so Hawke could see them towering up over them. The beautiful, ornate circle tower particularly caught her eye, shining like a beacon of white marble in the city center. “It’s like a university.” Fenris explained when she asked why a circle tower existed at all. “Young mages learn here, but only a rare few live her. Those sent from far away or those who choose to remain as teachers themselves. There are no guards.” 

“It would have been nice, you know.” Hawke said one day as they walked through the bustling port. “To learn with other children, how to do magic. Ones my own age, with a proper teacher that wasn’t my father. To not have to hide it.” 

“A good idea in theory, perhaps, but not all mages are content with their own power. With none to watch over them, look what has happened.” He waved his hand idly at a group of men being led from the belly of one of the great ships. 

“I know, I know. I just…” Fenris turned, caught the wistful expression on her face as she looked out over the sea. “If it could have been different. It would have been nice to not be alone.” 

“You are not alone.” Fenris said suddenly and Hawke smiled in response before brightly asking if they could get something to eat. 

 

“There are rumors of your return. Someone has reported it, anonymously.” The Magister said as she breezed into their bedroom like she owned it, which he supposed was accurate. Her eyes strayed to the pile of blankets on the floor and she frowned, looking at the bare bed and to Hawke with a question on her lips. They had been in Minrathous a little over a  week and Hawke was reading a letter from Varric on the chaise, feet in Fenris’s lap. Hawke ignored the questioning look as Fenris broke in. 

“Does the Senate believe it?” He asked, moving Hawke’s feet and standing. 

“No, but they must investigate. They would be foolish not to. Several of Danarius’s old associates are quite nervous about the possibility. You’d have appreciate the look on Delphine’s face. She was friends with…”

“Hadriana, I remember.” Fenris cut in. “The source of the rumor?” 

“Someone in the city guard. My people are looking into it.” The Magister said, plopping on the bed next to Lucia and scratching the hounds ear. Lucia permitted it with a rather halfhearted tail wag and an apologetic look at Fenris. “Perhaps you were seen?” 

“We’ve been the very soul of discretion.” Hawke replied steadily, stretching and resting her hand on her stomach. She’d been nauseous again in the morning, and evasive when Fenris questioned her about being ill until she snapped at him and tears had threatened. Fenris had backed down, but insisted on staying in the mansion. Thus, the day had passed with the two of them like this. It had...been pleasant. Not a thing he would ever have thought he would say. 

The door to their room opened again and Ivy stood in it, looking as pleased as a cat who had just dragged in a rodent. “Melusine found her.” She gushed. “Come, quickly.” 

“Perhaps the problem will be solved sooner than later?” Maevaris asked as Hawke stood quickly, grabbing her boots. 

“Perhaps.” Fenris agreed, picking up his blade. Maevaris’s painted eyebrows climbed. 

“Armed?” Ivy asked critically. “You’ll stand out more.” 

“It is almost dark.” Fenris observed as Hawke followed his lead and took her staff. “I won’t take the chances of running into armed adversaries of any ilk. I remember how dangerous the streets of Minrathous can be.” 

 

They left without Ivy or Lucia, despite Ivy’s protests. There was no need for a third or a stan out mabari when the two of them were quite able to handle themselves. They made their way back to Melusine’s insulae and stopped in front of the old woman herself, sitting on a crumbling low brick wall containing a scraggly community garden. 

“There’s a tavern on the docks, named the Open Barrel.” The woman whispered. “Frequented by the worst sort of smugglers. They’d as likely sell you to the Qunari as take you to freedom. She must be desperate, but that is where she is staying with the girl. They’re both hale and whole, for now.” 

“As luck would have it.” Hawke said confidently. “Dealing with violent smugglers in seedy taverns is a specialty of mine.” 

“Careful.” Melusine warned. “Other people have been asking questions. Servants of a Magister named Corix. He was an apprentice of Danarius.” 

“I don’t know him.” Fenris said quickly. “I knew all of his apprentices.” 

“This one left the service of the Magister before the  creation of his lyrium warrior and took himself off to Quarinus. He is only recently returned to Minrathous.” 

“Why does that town sound familiar?” Hawke asked, but Fenris had already turned, orienting himself to the docks. 

“Quarinus is where Varania served Magister Ahriman, according to Hadriana.” Fenris growled. Hawke swore, and they both took off into the night. 

He was sweating from the humid night air by the time they arrived outside the pub and there was a large amount of rather raucous noise coming from within, shouts of laughter, a woman singing a lewd verse about a chantry sister. Fenris steeled himself, then pushed the door in. 

The place stunk of cheap ale, which almost immediately made him homesick for the Hanged Man. The crowd lingering around the tables was a good deal rougher than the worst of the regulars at the Hanged Man. The kind who would shank you as soon as say hello. Without making eye contact, Fenris pushed his way to the bar, gesturing with gloved hands at the barman. Hawke pushed back her hood, glaring imperiously. “We’re bounty hunters.” She said lowly, sliding a gold coin across the table. “Looking for an elf woman with red hair. Might have a girl with her.” 

“I sold her out to a gang of mercenaries already, but they only gave me silver.” The man began, pocketing the coin. “Said the woman's a mage and they needed more muscle. Haven't come back yet, you're free to get her out first.”

“Awfully generous of you.” Fenris growled, huddled in his cloak.

“I'm a giver. Third floor, second door on the right. Don't leave a damned mess.” The man ordered, nonplussed. Hawke turned on her heel, pushing her way to the top of the staircase. She stopped, looking up the next flight. 

“Right, I'll stay here and keep a look out for the hired thugs.” She said, leaning against the wall. “You get Varania and the girl. Quickly as possible, we’ll sort everything out once we’re safe.” 

“Reyna…” Fenris began, bewildered. “I cannot do this alone. Fasta vass, what do I say? You are the one who… deals with these things.”

“She doesn't know me. She certainly won't trust me.” Hawke reasoned. 

“She does not know me either.” Fenris pointed out. Hawke smiled, sadly. 

“There was a portrait in the library of the estate of my mother when she was young. We found it in the basement when we moved in, and the first time I saw it I realized it was the spitting image of Bethany. I've regretted for years that I didn't ask you to get it when we fled Kirkwall. I loved that painting. It let me see Bethany any time I wanted.” She paused, bit her lip. “I was so angry at Varania when she betrayed you. I kept thinking how awful it was that a sibling could do that to another when I'd give my arm to see Bethany again, when I miss Carver and his shitty attitude every day. Maybe that's why I didn't ask enough questions. I don't know. But seeing that book she can't fucking read opened to your portrait… I understand that. I can make sense of it.” 

“You think it is the same as the portrait?” Fenris asked incredulously. “She gave me a message to leave, Reyna.”

“I also understand the impulse to try and keep you out of danger.” Hawke sighed. “She wants to see you, Fenris. Desperately. Not me.” 

Hawke sounded awfully certain, by far more certain than Fenris felt. He looked up the staircase, then at Hawke. “You'll come if there's danger?” 

“Immediately.” She promised. “Now go.” 

He hesitated a moment more, looking up the other flight of stairs skeptically. Hawke gripped his shirt and pressed her lips to his. “Go.” She ordered, a small smile on her face. 

He felt his limbs thaw and he nodded, beginning to make his way up the darkened steps. He looked over his shoulder, watching Hawke recline against the wall, her eyes focused on the visible front door of the tavern. He moved into the third floor hallway, passing the first door, then pausing at the second one. 

There was no sound from inside and the noise of the tavern seemed very far away. He could hear his own heart pounding, but little else. With a detached sort of curiousity, he saw his fist raise to the wooden door, watched it rap quickly against the wood. He paused, waited for an answer. There was done, so he rapped again. 

Still now answer, but he heard someone move from within. The sound of a skirt swishing across hardwood floor. He waited, but no one approached the door. Impatient, he rapped against the door harder. “Varania, open up.” He called. 

For a second, there was still no noise. Then the fabric rustling across the floor again, quickly, fingers fumbling with the latch, before wrenching the warped wooden door inward. And even in the dim light coming from the lone lantern in the hallway and the one lit within the dark room, he knew her. Pale skinned, not quite as pale as Hawke, but close. Red hair in a neat bun (joined now with a few silver streaks), eyes as green as his. She held the door with one hand, as if to slam it shut in a moment, but her eyes were dragging themselves over his face. Not like the last time, when she could barely look at him. And Fenris felt anything he may have said stuck in his throat. He tore his eyes from hers, awkward and feeling foolish, looking past her into the dark room instead. Sparsely furnished, a small bed tucked in to corner with a lump in the center of it, wrapped in threadbare blankets. He could not make any other features, only a gentle rise and fall of the blankets as the small bundle breathed. 

“You did not say…” He began. 

“What are you doing here?” She hissed, lifting her chin defiantly. “How reckless, how…” She stopped, dropping her eyes to the floorboards, fingers tightening on the door. “You should not be here. You must leave.” 

She was moving to shut the door, but Fenris was stronger than she. He pushed his fist against it, holding it open. “You are in danger.” He pressed. “The barman has sold you out, as you must have known would happen in such an upstanding establishment. I suspect you know better than I why a Magister is searching for you.” 

Varania took a step backwards, angling herself between him and the bed, growing even paler as he spoke. “Kaffas.” She swore softly, looking over her shoulder at the bed, then straightening her shoulders. “It is not your concern, but I thank you for the warning.” 

“Do not try to dismiss me.” Fenris growled. “I already received your message to leave, and I have summarily ignored it. We do not have time to argue. Unless you wish to chat until armed mercenaries are at the door…” 

Varania paused, visibly torn and shaken. She brought her knuckles up to her lips in a gesture that stirred something, a young woman in a courtyard doing the same as she waited fearfully. He took another step forward, into the room, shutting the door firmly behind him. Then he turned to her. “Varania…” 

“Stop!” Her voice was a plea and an expression of agony crossed quickly over her features. She shut her eyes, trembling. “Do not...do not do that.” 

Fenris was not entirely sure what she was speaking of, so he stopped entirely. The light from the hallway had done much to illuminate the room, without it Varania’s face was cast entirely in shadows. It did not hide her trembling. “Why have you come?” She asked, a tremor in her voice. “To kill me?” 

“No.” Fenris answered simply. “The abomination was after you, I needed to know why.” 

“Not me, not at first. He wanted her and I could not, after all I have done to keep her with me. After all I have lost.” Varania spoke rapidly. “I cannot lose her.” 

“Then… she is your daughter?” Fenris asked. “Sabina.” 

“Yes.” Varania whispered, taking another step backwards and looking over her shoulder at the sleeping child under the blankets, brushing her hand briskly under her eyes to wipe away tears he could not see. “She is just four years old. She needs me. Needs her mother.” 

“If we do not leave soon, she will be in the crossfire.” Fenris reasoned. Varania choked on something that may have been a sob. Fenris could not think of what else to say as Varania sunk to the edge of the flimsy mattress, pulling the blanket back just enough to reveal a shock of black curls and the very tip of pointed ears. There was an aching tenderness in the familiar sweep of Varania’s hand over the child’s hair. Then a brisk decision as her hand gripped the small shoulder. “Bina…” she cooed. “Wake up, my love. We must go now.” 

Fenris could hear footsteps, light and sure and achingly familiar outside. Varania looked up, panicked, but Fenris held a hand out. The door opened gingerly, just enough for Hawke to slip in. Her eyes lit on the small square window with obvious relief. “Thank  the Maker.” She muttered as she shut the door behind her. “We’re not getting back out the front. They’re here.” 

“How many?” Fenris asked, striding to the window and throwing it open. A steep drop to the ground, but manageable with Hawke. The window was just large enough for them all to slip out one at a time. He felt the pull of mana and turned to watch Hawke, her staff in her hand as a solid wall of ice climbed over the cheap door, reinforcing it by at least three inches.

“A dozen? I think there are more outside.” Hawke answered, turning. “Will we need a way down?” 

“Mama?” A small voice asked, soft with sleep. It drew both Fenris and Hawke’s attention to the small girl leaning into Varania, completely shadowed in the darkness. Varania forced a smile to her lips, pressing a finger against the child’s lips. 

“It’s a game, dulce meum.” Varania soothed. “We must go out the window, very quiet. Can you do that?” 

“Who are they?” The child asked quietly. Varania kept her smile, lifting the child into her thin arms and standing. Fenris could only catch a glimpse of weak light sparkling in one eye hidden behind a curtain of thick hair. 

“I’m Reyna.” Hawke said brightly. “Ever want to climb out a window?” 

The child did not answer, but Hawke did not appear to desire or expect one. Instead, she moved to the window. Fenris could hear booted feet storming up the hallway. Hawke leaned halfway out the window, her mana pulsing. He heard things scraping in the alleyway below. He peered around Hawke and saw a mountain of things growing, barrels and crates, ending just below the window. “Me first?” She asked Fenri lightly. 

“Careful.” Fenris warned as Hawke slipped through the window like a shadow, testing the balance of objects and nodding, satisfied. Fenris pushed away from the window, looking at Varania. She’d already thrown a bag over her shoulder and held a staff in the arm not supporting the child. She hesitated only a moment as more booted feet poured into the hallway, moving to the window. 

“Take her and hand her to me when I’m through.” Varania asked, pulling the child’s arms from her neck. “I’ll be right here, love. Watch me.” She soothed, pressing the warm child into Fenris’s arms and taking a step back as the girl whimpered, arms reaching out for her mother. 

“She is right there.” Fenris repeated, following Varania to the window. Someone was knocking on the door, but Fenris’s attention was focused on the hammering heartbeat of the child in his arms as Varania stepped out the window, gripping Hawke’s offered hand as Hawke descended like a pirate on rigging to the bottom of the pile. “I will not allow you to be hurt, I promise.” Varania turned just as the knocking turned to pounding, arms out. The child had turned her pointed face to him, eyes meeting his, their color catching in the light of the stars outside. Green as moss on stones. Hadn’t Isabela once told him she could wear his eyes on a necklace? He suddenly understood the sentiment. 

“Sabina.” Varania whispered. The child turned from him to her her mother and Fenris lifted her gently out the window. Varania’s arms circled around the child, holding her close as she gingerly began to pick her way down the pile. Hawke was at the bottom now, arms up to Varania to take the girl. 

“Very fun, isn’t it?” Hawke asked breathlessly. “And look! Normally your momma would say not to do this, pup. But here we are.” 

Against all odds, the girl giggled. That, he thought ruefully, was the last thing Hawke needed. A captive audience. But then he was out the window, making his way down after Varania. Hawke had Sabina in her arms and was untying her cloak, wrapping the child in it snuggly. And then she was handing her back to Varania and reaching for Fenris as he jumped the last crate and landed in a roll at the bottom. 

“Aye! Lads, back here! The knife-ear is trying to get away.” Someone shouted from the alley entrance. Several armed men were behind him, rushing past. 

But Hawke was quicker, the barrels and boxes and crates flying past her, knocking over the thugs. Most fell, leaving only an archer raising a crossbow. Fenris jerked his hand out, pulled her back. The bolt fell to Hawke’s left, missing her pale neck, buried into the wood of the tavern. From the other end of the tavern other men are coming, blocking them in. “Stop this foolishness.” One man barked, a longsword in his hand. “These arrows are dipped in Magebane, we only need one scrape and you’ll be down. Turn the girl and yourself in. There’s nowhere you can run with stolen property.” 

He knew what Hawke would do before she did it. “She is not stolen property!” She cried out, slamming the edge of her staff into the cobblestones. Flames leaped in a straight line in both directions, catching the crossbowman on one side who jumped away, crossbow discarded as his trousers caught fire. The rest of the men on the other side leaped and dodged, several falling into the flames in their rush to get away. Another bolt fell, but bounced harmlessly off a barrier that rushed past both Fenris and Hawke, shimmering like gossamer silk. Varania had one hand holding the child, his  _ niece _ , the girl’s face pressed flush against her mother’s neck in terror. The other gripped the wood staff she carried, ripples of magic surrounding it, lighting his markings under the cloak and shirt. 

The man with the broadsword sounded a charged and led the remaining fighters toward them. The sword was in his hand, weight comforting in his gloved hand as he struck the first man down. Hawke was at his back, focusing on those rising after her initial assault. The barriers condensed around them, and he heard Hawke calling for him to follow her, backing out of the alley into the open street. He cut down another man, then a woman who slid off his blade when he wrenched it back, leaving her blood all over his pants. The man with the broadsword raced past him, knocking the hood from Fenris’s head, heading towards Hawke or Varania and Sabina, he did not know. It didn’t matter. His fist phased, the leather glove falling from his hand to the ground as he sunk it into the man’s back, through the platemail covering him. The man gasped, going shock still. The lyrium in his skin pulsed, flickered as he made his hand solid again and squeezed the beating heart until blood spurted from the man’s mouth onto the ground and he fell, lifeless.

The din of battle had stopped, all the mercenaries looking at him with awe and fear. “The wolf.” someone whispered. 

Hawke threw a fireball behind him, causing the men to scatter, and grabbed Fenris’s elbow, tugging him out of the alley. “This way.” Varania directed, beginning to run into the maze of the city as the tavern caught fire behind them. 


	45. A Mother's Shame

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New POV for Varania. Trigger warnings for implied/reference non-consent and rape. Due to the American Holiday of Thanksgiving, I will be traveling with a toddler and a large dog. I may not be able to update as often as I usually do this week. Consider my trip research for upcoming chapters. Happy holidays!

Once upon a time, there had been three. Mother, Leto, and Varania. There had been a father, a different one for each of them judging from the different tones of their skin and Leto's dark hair. Varania had Eleni’s coloring through and through, but Leto only shared her eyes. It did not matter, it only mattered that there were three and they were together. 

Mother sang when she did the wash. The soap and scalding water turned her hands red, left weeping cracks in her skin, but she still sang. 

_ I saw a sweet and seemly sight, a blissful bird, a blossom bright… _

Varania did not sing, had not sung since… she would not let herself think it. Mother had said her voice was beautiful. Leto sometimes hummed along. Then Varania had ceased to sing, and Leto was as lost to her as a dead man and mother's ashes were cold when she scattered them in the harbor. There had been three, then there was one. 

Then there was a flicker one day inside her, and there were two again. Hope and fear dogged her every step, fleeing into the anonymity of Minrathous. She prayed she would never be found, her secret never held up to light and Sabina… 

Sabina sang sometimes. Snippets of nonsense songs from the old women in the insulae, a rhyming verse from the other children. She sang freely and never asked why her mother did not sing to her as the other mothers did. 

Varania only sang the verses in her head, she dared not open her mouth as her fingers stroked her daughter's thick dark curls (her father's curls, her father's skin, the only thing Varania had to remember him by, but Maker, those were Leto’s eyes in Sabina’s face). The words slipped through her head like water, snatches of Eleni's songs. 

_ I saw a sweet and seemly sight, a blissful bird, a blossom bright… _

Frightened fingers twisted into the thin cloth of her blouse and Varania could not ease them. They had stopped running, but their pace was still quick. Sabina would not hope to match it, she must be carried. It had been so long since Varania had carried her for such a distance, she had gotten so much heavier than the mewling babe she had kept on a sling around her chest back when…

“I can help. If your arms are tired.” And those blue eyes were peering into Varania’s, her pale hands gleaming in the weak moonlight. They did not shake as Varania's felt hers must. They had a magister’s confident assurance. 

A foreign magister, Danarius had said of her dismissively. Varania had known this to not be entirely the truth, although the truth was hard to come by when it came to tales of Kirkwall's champion. Mages were locked up in the south, Varania had been told, but this small woman did not have the look of anyone who had ever been caged. She also did not look like she was completely capable of setting armies of men on fire, but Varania knew better. She had seen it twice now, hadn't she? A closer look at the woman's face showed doubt hidden under a smile and steady hands. “I know you may prefer Fenris help, but I'd like him able to swing that sword. At least I can still cast with one hand if I need to.”

Varania was quite unsure of that statement, for many reasons. The first was that she'd watched the woman cast. She threw her whole body into it, like a dancer. Casting with one hand would not come easily to her. The second was that she was unsure if either of these people could be trusted with her precious burden. Because that man was not Leto, could not be Leto. She had heard what that man had done, she had watched him walk past her mother's outstretched arm in the market and brush it rudely away, Leto was dead, had been dead for years. And yet…

Twice, she had thought she had seen Leto in his features. Once, when he first saw her in Kirkwall, but it had been too late then. She had already made her decision then on who was more important, and it had not been Leto. Maker forgive her. The second, when the weak light of the lantern had hid the lyrium scarring his face and he had said her name so gently… 

_ The door to the closet opened and Varania pulled the torn dress tighter around her, unable to hide the damage to flesh or cloth and willing herself to vanish into nothingness. The sliver of light from the door fall on the floor, over her skin and Leto was stepping inside quickly,  pushing the door shut behind him and her name was gentle when he said it, one arm reaching cautiously for her… _

Sabina must have felt her heartbeat speed up, banging against her ribs like a hammer at the forge because she clung tighter, knees pressing into her muscles hard. “She is frightened.” Varania stated, her weary arms tightening around the small form. 

“Don't be scared, pup.” The woman said softly, clucking her tongue. “We do this sort of thing quite a bit. Professional heroes, one could say. We're not going to let anything happen to you or your mama.” 

“Reyna, we must hurry.” Fenris, the man who used to be Leto urged. But the woman did not hurry, she only continued to smile and hold her arms out patiently. And Varania was so tired, tired and hungry and weary beyond measure. What finally made her decision was the glimpse she'd gotten of the woman as she stood in the alley behind the tavern, the flicker of something not quite her but not quite apart from her she had caught as the champion had shed her cloak and wrapped it around Sabina. So Varania quickly untangled Sabina’s thin fingers from her blouse and gently soothed her as the Champion of Kirkwall took her weight. Awkward at first, but then more confident as her arms found the right place to grip Sabina’s skinny waist, the shift of a hip to center her. After all, there was only one way to learn how to carry a child, and that was by doing. Varania doesn't make her plea aloud, does not beg for the Champion to keep her child safe, she doesn't have to. A shared glance between the two women was all it took. The Champion simply nodded, settling into place beside Varania and gently brushing the dark curls away from Sabina’s tear stained cheeks.

The Champion of Kirkwall does not sing either, but she was not silent. Varania suspected that quiet was not a word used to describe the petite human often. “Have you ever seen a mabari, pup? We have one, her name is Lucia. She's very smart, smarter than most people I think. One time…” The words were low, but calm, a story spinning from her lips like magic. Varania felt the ache in her arms lessen as they swung to her side, and the fear in her heart ease as Sabina looked up, eyes fixed on the woman's lips. Varania finally felt like she could look at the man leading them. She did not expect him to be looking at the woman with a small, tired smile and eyes soft in his killer's face. 

Varania knew she may not be safe, but it suddenly mattered very little. Sabina would be, and that was all she had wanted for so very long. 

 

It was a half hour before they stumbled through an empty kitchen garden. At least, Varania had initially thought it was empty. But there was a rustle of fabric and a woman, an elf, appeared from the shadows. Her hair was pulled from her face, showing deep scars running down her forehead and cheek. Varania would guess they were left by magic, but she couldn't be sure.

“Thank the Maker.” The elf whispered, shoulders slumping in relief. “Please tell me that shite down at the docks has nothing to do with you.”

“I fear that your fears are well founded.” Fenris responded dryly. 

“Honestly, Ivy,  of course it was us.” Hawke answered with a brilliant smile. “Haven't you learned that nothing we do ever goes according to plan?” 

The girl bit her lip, examined the darkness behind them before gesturing for them to come inside and turning her attention back to Fenris. “Were you seen? Followed?”

“We were not followed.” His answer was clipped, measured. “As to whether we were seen...that would depend.”

“On?” Ivy asked, exasperated. 

“If any who saw survived Hawkes conflagration.” His shoulders shrugged. 

“Was nothing less flashy than an inferno available, your ladybits?” Ivy glared at Hawke. Hawke simply smiled apologetically. 

“My fault, in life or death situations I always feel fire is the most logical answer.” Hawke said slyly. Ivy looked as if she was about to retort, but Sabina giggles against Hawke's shoulder. This softened Ivy's face. 

“At least it was worth it, right?” Ivy had asked the question, but did not expect an answer. “I'll wake the Magister and Tamar and get them scheming on a solution.” 

“They'll be thrilled, I expect. Are the rest of the servants sleeping?” Hawke asked brightly. 

“All but the guards posted outside and patrolling the perimeter.” Ivy answered. 

“Excellent. Would you mind showing me where I can find a wash basin and some clean linen? Soap would be nice. Spare blankets too.” Hawke said thoughtfully. Then added, politely. “Would you like anything else to clean up, Varania?” 

For her? For a moment, Varania could not answer this unexpected kindness. It had been days since she'd been able to afford the luxury of anything more than a damp cloth. “Mare!” Sabina whispered urgently. “At my insulae. I need her to bath.”

“Sabina…” Varania said softly, tired. It was not the girl's fault, but Varania felt she had explained that they could not return home a hundred times. 

“Is Mare a wooden bird?” Hawke asked, smiling. 

“An anas.” Sabina corrected indignantly, glaring through her dark eyelashes. Hawke looked startled, but before Varania could cut in, she was startled by a deep, throaty chuckle and a quirk of a smile from Fenris. 

“A duck.” He translated helpfully. “Dicitur anatis mare tuum?”

“Ita! Vidisti eam?” Sabina asked brightly. 

“Nos itaque et tulerunt eum in domum tuam ad vos.” Fenris answered. “Etiam a pupa.” 

“My doll!” Sabina exclaimed in joy, turning to Varania with a smile so infectious she could not help but smile back. “Mama…”

“I heard, Sabina.” Varania said softly, “Be quiet only a bit longer, sweet.” 

And Sabina bit her lip, staring at Fenris through her curtain of curls without fear, but with curiosity. “What is your name?” She asked in a whisper. 

There was a moment of heavy silence that affected them all but Sabina. Varania cast her eyes down, unable to look up at anyone. Unable to bear the answer. But it did not come the way she expected. “I have been called Fenris for many years. I was told I once had another name, another life, but I can recall only a few moments from it. Then I was called Leto.” 

They had entered a beautiful courtyard, the moon shining down through the courtyard and highlighting the lyrium in his skin in a way that made her own itch. “Your name is Fenris and Leto?” Sabina asked, bewildered. 

“Maybe she can call you Broody?” Hawke asked with a sly, wicked smile. 

“I would prefer she not learn Varric's bad habits from you.” Fenris said quickly, opening a door off to the side. Immediately, a mountain of fur bounded loose into the courtyard, dancing around their heels with it's short stub of a tail wriggling. Varania could not help but stiffen as the beast pressed its nose to Hawke's abdomen, then nudged Sabina’s small foot. 

“Lucia, be polite.” Fenris ordered. Immediately the hound plopped into a sitting position, head raised to stare up at the child. 

“Sabina, meet Lucia.” Hawke said grandly. “Lucia, say hello.”

The beast let out of small woof, half caught in it's big throat. Then it raised itself from the ground and ducked its head down in something unmistakably close to a bow. Sabina drew in an astonished breath. Even Varania could not help but share Sabina’s childish delight.  “You taught your war hound to bow to guests?” Varania asked. 

“I did no such thing. Fenris taught her that, and most everything else. She is rather more his partner than mine.” Hawke was trying to keep her tone playfully jealous, but the pride was evident in her smile. And it touched Varania, however hard she tried to deny it. The dog sniffed the hem of her skirt, that bounded around the courtyard sniffing. 

Inside the opulent guest room, Varania was shocked to see the bed stripped bare, blankets and pillows arranged into a neat nest on the floor instead. She raised an eyebrow, but neither adult deigned to acknowledge it. Hawke put Sabina down on the bare mattress and pulled a bundle towards her, depositing it in her small lap. With a start, Varania recognized it. The coverlet from their bed in the insulae, tied neatly around several items. Beside that were several other bundles. “These are your things.” Fenris said awkwardly. “If you would like anything else retrieved, we can attempt to do so.” 

Sabina’s hands were tracing the embroidered flowers in the blanket with a small smile as she tugged impatiently at the knots. Hawke’s clever, slender fingers helped and the doll was revealed, along with several of the embroidered dresses Varania had made from scraps. “This is sufficient.” Varania responded formally. “Thank you.” 

Fenris looked as if he would say something else, but decided against it at the last moment. Instead he looked to Hawke. “You'll need my assistance retrieving the washbasin.”

Hawke shrugged, straightening with a fond smile at Sabina. Then she followed Fenris from the room, leaving the door open to the warm night air, scented heavily with jasmine. Varania heard Fenris whistle, then an order to the dog to guard. Lucia let out a small bark in response and appeared at the door, settling herself in front of it. Not to keep her in, Varania reminded herself, but to keep intruders out. 

“Mama, they brought Ama's clothes too.” Sabina said with a smile from her perch on the mattress. “She won't be naked.” 

“Yes, and I'll make her some new ones too, him? As soon as I can.” Varania promised, approaching the bed. 

“Can they be blue?” Sabina asked as Varania opened another bundle. Clothes for the two of them, the most decent of what they owned. 

“Yes my love.” Varania answered automatically, opening the last bag. She almost sighed with relief to see her spare set of needles and scissors, plus some bundles of thread. No cloth, all she owned had been abandoned at the market stall when she was attacked. But it would be enough to mend what Sabina tore and it would keep her hands busy. 

“Mama, your necklace.” Sabina said, holding the leather cord in a fist still chubby with baby fat. The soft glint of the pink stone caught the lantern light. 

“Benigne.” Varania said with a smile. The weight was reassuring in her hand, as certain as it had been the day she was given it. “Your papa gave this to me, dulce meum.” 

“I know. Put it on!” Sabina demanded. Varania acquiesced, slipping the cord over her head and letting the cool stone rest against her breast. “Mama, what is this?”

Sabina’s hands were on the bright red leather cover of a book she had paid too much coin for, particularly concerning she could not read any of the beautiful shapes contained inside. It had been hidden, and Varania felt a momentary rush of anger and shame. Then a hollow sense of defeat. “It is a book, Bina. I believe it is called the Champion's Tale. It is a story.” 

“What kind of story?” Sabina demanded. 

“I do not know.” Varania admitted. “Perhaps we will find someone to read it to us.” 

“I can teach you.” Hawke’s offer was gentle, kind. She sidestepped the hound like it was second nature. She dumped a pile of absurdly thick towels onto the chaise. “I helped teach my siblings and I helped Fenris.” 

“That is kind, but…” Varania began immediately. Hawke held her hand up to stop her before she finished. 

“Don't say no now. Give yourself a chance to be charmed by my sparkling personality first. Or badgered into compliance. Either way.” Hawke said, spinning gracefully on her foot. “I'll be back with blankets. Fenris is on his way with the basin.”  

“Mama, I want to do it.” Sabina whispered breathlessly as Hawke left. And there was a picture, called unbidden into her mind, of Sabina slowly reading in the countryside, a bit older but with eyes alight as they moved down the page. 

“Perhaps.” Varania answered evasively. “What else do you have there, Bina?” 

Sabina lifted the heavy book, revealing the last two items. She cooed in delight as she picked up the wooden duck, but Varania could barely hear her over the rushing in her ears. There was a blue velvet pouch, ignored by Sabina in favor of the toy, laying in the cloth. Her fingers shook as she took it, loosening the strings until several painted glass beads, each the size of her thumb, fell into her palm. She stared at them, shocked. Only the sound of the thick wooden basin landing on the wooden floor could rouse her. It was large, not large enough for Varania to stretch herself out but Sabina could. And Fenris was standing over it, looking at her curiously with Leto's (mother's, Sabina's) moss green eyes. 

“Hawke is returning with blankets. The bed is yours.” He said stiffly. 

“Why did you bring these?” She demanded, feeling the hysteria building in her own voice. It was too much, too much. He frowned, uncomprehending. 

“I did not pack your things. I was unsure if you would approve of a man going through them.” He stopped, hesitating. “I did not wish to make you uncomfortable. Hawke packed them. If something is wrong, it is not intentional.” 

If something was wrong. Everything was wrong. She was surrounded by the tattered remains of her life, the one she had built with her own hands out of the wreckage of the first one. Her daughter was within inches of falling into the clutches of one monster or another. She was staring at a man with Leto's eyes and Leto's voice (even Leto's formal manners, her heart whispered traitorously) and if this man was Leto he should wish her dead but here she was. Her daughter’s lap was filled with secret desires and unfulfilled wishes. She was sitting in a bed more luxurious than any she had dared sit on in a Magister's home, while a foreign noblewoman fetched blankets and fussed unbearably. Tears of frustration pricked her eyes. “My life is ruined because I fell on the wrong side of your enemies. Again.” She blurted out. “And yet I still do not have my brother back.” 

This shocked him, she saw it flash across his face. It was followed quickly by a dark cloud of anger. “You could have told me the truth. In Kirkwall.” 

When he had been covered in blood, those damn markings flickering up and down his arms. “You would not have listened.” She responded harshly. “All you wanted was someone to blame.” 

“I wanted to meet my sister.” Fenris said quietly. Varania's hand shook so badly that one of the painted beads, the same color blue as the sea, rolled from her palm. It stopped near Fenris and he bent to retrieve it. He held it between his thumb and forefinger, scowling at it. His other hand rose to his temple. 

“Can I see?” Sabina asked, her first tugging on her skirt. Within two steps, Fenris was in front of her, blue bead in his outstretched palm. Sabina plucked it like a magpie, holding it to the lantern light and watching it sparkle. 

“Why has this upset you?” The man demanded, looking down at her. 

_ She was barely fourteen, mending the torn liveries of the slaves who served at table, bright in the colors of Danarius's house so his guest would not forget their illustrious host. She was singing quietly in the kitchen courtyard, the sun warm on her skin as her needle flashed in and out, a blur of silver. When she heard footsteps approaching,  she looked up. The boy who tended the chickens was scurrying away, but Leto was striding towards her. Long limbed, confident, a small smirk on his lips. The greatsword he’d been trained with slung over his back almost carelessly. He looked exceptionally pleased with himself, Varania thought as he stopped before her with a mock bow.  _

_ “What are you doing?” Varania asked, setting aside the mending as he held out a closed palm.  _

_ “I’ve brought you a gift. Close your eyes and open your hands.” He ordered, continuing to smile. Varania did as he requested. She could tell Leto was examining her closely to make sure she wasn’t peeking through her eyelashes. When he was satisfied, he opened his fist and several smooth round stones fell into her open palm. Varania frowned, rolling them against her skin with her eyes closed. She opened her eyes, puzzled, then gasped at the beautiful shining glass beads in her palm. Not enough to form a whole bracelet, but several nonetheless. They were colored, blue like the sea, one painted with green vines.  _

_ “Where did you get these?” She asked, breathless with excitement. _

_ “A merchant’s bracelet broke while she was shilling wares to the Master. He was quite annoyed by her scurrying. She found most of them, but these rolled under the desk near my feet. She won’t be back, I think, so I retrieved them for you.” He explained. “Don’t let anyone see them.”  _

_ “I won’t.” She promised, already digging in the basket for a scrap of cloth to sew them into, her fingers closing over a square of blue velvet. “Perhaps I can keep looking and make myself a bracelet someday.”  _

_ “Perhaps.” Leto agreed, pushing his dark hair back from his eyes. This was the great before, when things may have been difficult at times, but mama was in the laundry and she knew Leto was with the guards, watching her. And there were still three of them. _

“They were a gift from my brother.” Varania said quietly, unable to meet the man’s eyes. She was afraid, afraid to look and see Leto there. Afraid she wouldn’t. She couldn’t decide what would be worse. She was not expecting the hiss of sudden pain or for Fenris to stumble back, his hand on his temple. 

“Fenris?” Hawke asked from the doorway, tossing the blankets she carried beside Varania and going to his side immediately. Worry tinged her pointed face as Fenris stepped away from her. 

“I need… I need some air.” He said. “Alone.”

“Take Lucia. And be careful, please.” Hawke begged, her fingers cautiously raised as if she’d grab him before she mastered herself and dropped her hand to her side. 

The man pressed a desperate kiss against Hawke’s forehead and vanished into the night air, the hound following him at his heels. Hawke stared forlornly after him and let out a great huff of air. 

“Well.” She began as lightly as she could. “We knew it’d be difficult.” 

Varania thought she was trying to reassure herself more than either of them. “Is he sick?” Sabina asked, brow furrowed. 

“No.” Hawke said immediately. “No, I… sometimes, pup, he remembers things but they hurt. He’ll come back soon.”

 

Hawke fetched water and soap almost silently and rejected Varania’s offer to help. When the basin was full she stretched, tossing the bucket she’d used in a corner and pulling out an ornate folding screen. “Would you like me to heat the water up?” Hawke asked politely as Varania threw clean towels over the screen. 

“I can do it!” Sabina yelled, rushing around the screen and plunging her hand into the cold water. “Watch!” 

“She’ll need help.” Varania said quietly. “If you would not mind.” 

Sabina’s fingers glowed weakly in the water as she concentrated. Hawke rolled up her sleeve, plunging her own hand into the water and gently touching Sabina’s wrist. Varania watched critically as mana flowed, down through Hawke’s arm and into Sabina’s hand. The glow growing and Sabina smiling. Within moments, steam rose lazily and Hawke pulled her arm up. 

“Very good job, pup.” Hawke praised. “Did mama teach you?” 

“Yes!” Sabina said gleefully. “I can make ice too.” 

A part of Varania wanted to warn Sabina that she was not to talk about her magic, but Hawke was beaming. “Someday soon, we’ll have to get you a proper staff.” 

And that was all it took for Sabina to be distracted through her whole bath, sitting in the steamy water while Varania ran a cloth down her tanned skin and the child babbled about the staff she wanted, set with gems and inlaid with gold with a dragon on top. And a griffon. But the warm water did the trick, and the adrenaline of their evening wore off. By the time Varania lifted her from the tub, she was yawning. She slipped a shift over Sabina’s head and emerged, sitting the child on the bed. 

“Champion, may I borrow a comb?” She asked the woman on the floor, hesitating a moment. Hawke was sitting in her circle of blankets on the floor, running a cloth over her staff. Immediately, she dove into her pack and pulled out a wooden comb, handing it over. It was covered in elaborate carved vines, Dalish in origin she thought. 

“Hawke, by the way.” She said conversationally. “Or Reyna, although Fenris is the only one who calls me that. I don’t know if you  heard, but I’m not entirely sure Kirkwall wants their champion anymore. The title may have been revoked.” 

Varania settled Sabina in her lap and began to untangle the child’s hair, separating the dark curls before pulling the comb through each. “You are...together?” She finally asked. 

“We married.” Hawke answered. “After Kirkwall, while we were on the run. It’s been… Maker, over two years now. Would’ve invited you to the ceremony, but you know...” 

The tone was a joke, but Varania winced. “I’m sure I would not have been welcome.”

“Maker, no, that’s not…” Hawke began, nearly dropping her staff. “I meant that it wasn’t exactly planned. We were getting married in a tower while the templars were distracted downstairs. We spent our wedding night on the run.” 

“Sounds terribly romantic.” Varania remarked dryly. Sabina’s head was beginning to droop and she gave up on the comb, doing a quick run through with her fingers before sliding her daughter’s warm weight onto the bed. Before she could ask, Hawke was tossing a light blanket over her. 

“You know. It was, in it’s way.” Hawke said cheerfully. “She’s an adorable little thing, Sabina.” 

“Thank you. She is…” Varania felt her throat swell. “She is everything to me.” 

Varania could envy the way Sabina fell asleep almost as soon as her eyes closed, her mother’s hands still in her curls. Hawke knelt beside the bed, resting her own dark head on her crossed forearms. “Did Danarius know about her?” 

“I thought he did not. I was very careful. But somehow, yes, he found out. And he found out that her father was a slave. He was the one that delivered the letter to me that Leto… Fenris wrote. I do not know how he found out.” 

Hawke’s blue eyes were unflinching. “Fenris thought it a trap. Hadriana said you existed, and Fenris thought you were bait to lure him to Tevinter.” 

“He was correct.” Varania said softly. “Danarius said if I helped him, he would fix Sabina’s situation, enroll her in the circle and make me his apprentice. I did not believe him, but I knew if I did not go…” 

“He would have taken Sabina to the Magister, the one looking for you? Magister Corix.” Hawke guessed. 

“That can never happen. She must never go to him.” She exclaimed desperately, panic edging her voice. “He is an evil man, worse than Danarius. At least Danarius wanted power in return for our suffering, but he… he enjoys making others suffer. It arouses him.” She whispered, shamed. Hawke’s pale skin paled even further and Varania watched as her knuckled tightened on her own arms. 

“He was an apprentice in Danarius’s house. Like Hadriana.” Hawke confirmed. “But he left before the ritual that marked Fenris. Why?” 

“Danarius had chosen to honor his boon to my brother. My freedom, my mother’s freedom. He was so angry. He had...he had intended to ask for me as a gift for completing his apprenticeship. He...he knew. He knew I had magic and he…” Varania stopped, staring at her own fingers, too dirty to be touching Sabina’s hair. She pulled them back and settled them on her lap. They trembled and instantly, Hawke’s were over hers. 

“Fenris knew that he wanted you? Is that why he entered the tournament?” Hawke asked softy.

“Yes. Leto said it was the only way, that I would die if he did not. But he died instead.” Varania sighed. “It should have been me. I was not worth this.” 

“And Sabina’s father?” Hawke prodded gently. 

“I left him the moment I found I was with child. He died two years later - rumor says he was used to fuel a ritual to build some sort of observatory tower in Quranis. He knew I was with child, but he would never have said. He loved me, had loved me since…” Varania bit her lip. 

“It is my fault. Fenris was furious, because of course he was, but I should have seen through it. I should have realized there was a reason. We sent you back to this city of snakes all alone.” Hawke’s lips were pressed together in a grim line. “I’m sorry.” 

“I betrayed you. I betrayed you both.” Varania’s voice cracked with shame. “I do not deserve your kindness.” 

“You had very little choice.” Hawke reasoned. 

“I had a choice. I choose Sabina. I would do so again tomorrow if I needed to.”

“Then I’ll make sure there is no need for you to make that choice.” Hawke cut in. “Come with us. We’ll get out of this city and go south. I think we should return to Skyhold, where the Inquisition is stationed. It’s a fortress in the mountains, it’ll be safe enough to wait out…” 

Her hand fluttered thoughtlessly to her abdomen. Varania reached out and caught it, pressing it back against her skin. The little flicker inside reacted, bobbing like an apple. Hawke’s breath caught as Varania examined. “About seven weeks along?” She asked. 

“You know, this whole time I thought the Magister was going to catch me out.” Hawke said softly. 

“Magister Tilani lives as a woman, but does not have the parts. Magic can only do so much for that. It’s an open secret. What she knows about women’s problems and childbirth could fit in my thimble.” Varania pulled back, looking at the small woman. “He does not know? He does not even suspect?” 

“I didn’t figure out what was going on until after… well after we got to this city. I was told I couldn’t have children. Look…” Hawke lifted her shirt, revealing a nasty scar covering almost her entire abdomen. “Arishok got me. Fucker was fast for a big guy. The healer, Anders, told me that it had damaged my parts. There would be no baby. I’m still not entirely certain what happened.” 

“Is this the tainted, possessed Warden who turned my daughter and I into the Magister because we would not help free you from the imprisonment he claimed was inflicted on you by the man you call your husband?” Varania asked. 

“Well, yes, but this was before…” Hawke stated. 

“And didn’t he encourage you to allow the chains to be clipped back onto Fenris when Danarius offered the choice?” Varania continued. 

“He fancies himself in love with me, that’s all. He has just gotten a tad obsessive about it.” Hawke said, waving it away. 

“Perhaps, the tainted and mad mage, sterile because of his warden blood, decided to even the playing field by stating that Fenris could offer you no more than he could.” Varania shrugged. “But what would I know, I am neither insane or tainted.” 

Hawke stood, angry. “Well, I’ve got nothing to worry about. Once we get past this awkward bonding moment, you and he will get along thick as thieves and mock me mercilessly.” 

“Don’t get upset, it isn’t good for the baby.” Varania said calmly. “You must tell him.” 

“I am. Just, I couldn’t until we’d found you because if he’d have known, we’d be halfway back to Skyhold now. I didn’t want him to leave you, to leave without answers.” Hawke crossed her arms. “I still don’t know, I’m not even sure if it will survive. The wound was so bad, and I’ve never taken herbs. Fenris and I have been together for years and we’ve had an outrageous amount of unprotected sex. Why now?” 

“You are frightened there is something wrong with it?” Varania asked, slowly standing. “Let me see. This I have experience with.”

Reluctantly, Hawke dropped her arms to her side. Cautiously, Varania held her hand over Hawke’s stomach. She closed her eyes, feeling, picturing. “He was not entirely wrong about the severity of your injury. This here…” she dragged her mana over Hawke’s skin, painting a line over the curve of her abdomen. “Do you feel what is there?” 

“It’s hard, but… it feels twisted, shorn. Some kind of tube?” Hawke asked. 

“Yes. It carries your seed to meet the seed of…” She almost said Leto and the thought made her blush, so she coughed and said instead “Your lover. This one was severed by the blade that left the scar. However…” She traced her mana across the top of Hawke’s abdomen, down the other side in a curl. “Do you feel this one? It is whole and well. It carries your seed as well. Conception would take longer because there is a lower chance each time, but you’re perfectly capable. As we see.” 

She let her hand linger on the curve of Hawke’s stomach. “Have you gained weight? Been nauseous.” 

“Ugh. Nauseous a lot. Weight… a little, I think. My pants are a bit more snug.” Varania nodded. “But the baby, there is nothing…?” 

“You know the answer to that.” Varania said simply, “You can feel it, yes? It is growing, it is healthy. You should stop running and fighting, the sooner the better.” 

“I’ve had spectacular little success keeping my family members alive, you know.” Hawke said weakly. “And they were grown. This will be… helpless.” 

“I can’t answer that.” Varania said. “But you will be having a baby, whether or not you feel ready for it. And you must be gone from Tevinter before it is known. The child of the White Wolf of Seheron would be either bashed against the rocks when it emerged or…” 

“Or…?” Hawke questioned. 

“A child born to a lyrium warrior. The Magisters love their experiments, and many would not miss the opportunity to see if any skills were inherited by the child.” Varania said softly. “And that could very well be worse than death.”  

Hawke placed a hand gently over her abdomen, eyes bright with fury. “Then we leave Tevinter. Together.” She vowed. “And the sooner, the better.” 

 

She did not expect to sleep, but she did. She woke up with Sabina’s foot jabbed in her ribs as she usually did. She gently adjusted the sleeping child, then sat up. A great large head raised itself from the blankets on the floor, blinking sleepily at her. Beside it, tanned arms clasped a pale woman to his form, tangled against her like a vine. His breath came slowly, relaxed, and his face…

She saw it now, possibly could never unsee it again. No matter what expression that face wore, no matter the scars of lyrium, she knew. Underneath it, when he slept, Leto’s face was there. Peaceful, with a small smile on his lips as he clutched the woman he loved, the woman carrying his child. His wife. First, there had been three. Then one, then two. Now, Varania thought as she looked down, there were four, and there would be five. She would go, she would leave this place and never return. Her daughter would face danger in the south, but the apostates were protected by this Inquisition in Skyhold. It was less dangerous there than here. Nobody would rip them apart, no one. 

And if Hawke did not tell him as soon as the gates of Minrathous were at their back, Varania would force her to. Leto deserved to know he had a child on the way. As she pondered, the dog began to growl at the door. Within seconds, both Hawke and Fenris were awake, grasping for sword and stave. 

“Get dressed.” Ivy said, outlined by weak morning sun. “We have a situation, and you need to get out of Minrathous.  _ Now _ .”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Latin Translations:   
> Anas: Duck   
> Dicitur anatis mare tuum: You called your duck mare?  
> Ita! Vidisti eam: Yes! Have you seen him?  
> Nos itaque et tulerunt eum in domom tuam ad vos: We retrieved him from your home for you.  
> Etiam a pupa: Also, a doll.   
> Benigne: Thanks  
> Dulce meum: My sweet


	46. Moving On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maria and Varric do things on the war table. Cole becomes more human. A dire message is received.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW right in the middle, enjoy

Varric was able to keep Maria in her room for a little less than a day, which he still counted as a small victory. She was still favoring her ribs and experiencing headaches, so he shadowed her and watched for the small signals, the crease between her brows growing deeper, tugging her hair out it’s braid or bun irritably, and the squinting through bright light. Whenever he saw that, the activity was over. If it didn’t end when he said it should, he left to find Cole or Sera. They were experts at being appropriately disruptive and needed little encouragement. 

She’d found an amulet for Cole from Rivain, as requested. She held it in her hands and examined it critically in the light. “They’re held very dear, Inquisitor, but I am assured it will prevent the young man from being bound.” Then it had slipped into her pocket as the meeting droned on and on endlessly about the civil war in Orlais. When she rubbed a tiny circle on her temple, Varric attempted to draw the meeting to a close and found himself staring down Leliana and Josephine. 

“I’ll wrap it up soon.” Maria promised, gesturing for Leliana to continue. Varric knew better, so he went hunting for Cole. Varric found him examining spider webs in the kitchen. 

“Hey kid, how’s it going?” Varric asked kindly. 

“Blackwall told me to ask you about the hair on his face.” Cole said immediately. “But then I started singing the song from the carriage. It’s always in his head.” 

“It’s called a beard. Some women like them.” Varric answered easily. 

“She used to, but she likes the feel of stubble on her cheeks better.” Cole smiled fingers hovering lightly over the spiderwebs. “Do you need me to put the kittens in the room with the big map again?” 

“Nah, not this time. Maria’s got the amulet you wanted.” Varric offered. The kid’s face broke into a wide smile. 

“Yes! I’ll be safe. Where should I go?” Cole asked eagerly. 

“She’s in the room with the map, go grab her and get Solas. You can try it out.” Varric couldn’t help but grin as the boy ran past him, taking off up the steps. Worked like a damn charm every time. 

 

He made his way leisurely back to the spot he’d reclaimed after Zarra Cadash’s departure. He’d just begun to settle in when he heard a shout and a commotion from the rotunda. Sighing, he lifted himself back out of the chair and hurried in. Solas, Cole, and Maria were all huddled around, Cole holding his head as Maria stroked his blonde hair gently. 

“Oh for...what are you doing to the kid?” Varric asked, hurrying to Cole’s other side. 

“Stopping blood mages from binding me! But it didn’t work.” Cole explained, rubbing his head and frowning, defeated.” 

“Something is interfering with the enchantment.” Solas mused. 

“Of course it didn’t work, Cole.” Maria smiled gently. “Nothing ever just  _ works _ around here. We’ll figure it out.” 

“Maybe, just maybe, we’re looking at this all wong. Maybe the something interfering with the enchantment is that Cole isn’t a demon.” Varric shrugged. Maria nodded, continuing to smooth Cole’s hair gently. The boy leaned into her touch like a cat. 

“Could Cole be too… human?” Maria asked thoughtfully. 

“Regardless of Cole’s special circumstances, he remains a spirit.” Solas argued, crossing his arms. 

“A spirit that is strangely like a person!” Varric exclaimed. 

“I don’t matter! Whispering, weeping. Cut away the parts of me that could knot together and make a weapon that cuts and cleaves.” Cole pleaded, tugging on Maria’s arm. “You can do it! If anyone can, it’s you!” 

“Focus on the amulet. Tell me what you feel.” Solas ordered. 

“Blanket, warm. Covers but it catches and tears. I’m the wrong shape, there’s something…” Cole trailed off. He spun, almost like a drunk, and pointed a trembling finger past Maria's head. “There, that way.”

“It appears we have something to find.” Maria said, smirking. “See, Solas? I said it's never that easy but you said have faith…” 

Solas scowled at the small woman. Varric broke in. “Alright kid, take the Inquisitor and look at that map. See if we can work out where something's wrong.” 

“But you'll come with me?” Cole asked, reaching out to wrap his hand around Maria's wrist. Then he looked up from under his hat at Solas, then swept his eyes to Varric. “All of you?”

“Sure, kid.” Varric said, smiling.

“Let's go look at the map, me and you.” Maria said, placing her own hand over Cole's and guiding him out of the room.”

“Alright, I get it. You like spirits.” Varric said, watching Solas observe Cole leaving. “But the kid came into this world to be a person. Let him be one.”

“Cole is a spirit who needs help. Would you leave him vulnerable, Master Tethras?” Solas asked, sounding irritated. 

“I’m not saying do nothing.” Varric protested. “But this binding ritual of theirs only works on demons, right?” 

Solas sighed, rubbed his temple and looked down, irritated. “This is not some fanciful story, child of the stone. We cannot change our nature by merely wishing.” 

Varric almost laughed, but held it in. “Chuckles, Maria Cadash is a  _ dwarf _ who dreams. We’re dealing with a darkspawn magister I know my friend stabbed in the throat. Every Grey Warden in Thedas has lost their damn minds. The veil is ripped open. I don’t think the normal rules apply anymore.”

“However we deal with the problem, our next step is to track down whatever is interfering with the enchantment.” Solas said, turning his back pointedly. Varric recognized the dismissal and turned on his heels, rolling his eyes. Some people, he mused, could only see black and white. 

Maria and Cole were lingering over the large map in the war room, Cole examining it nervously as Maria patiently spun one of her markers around and around like a top. She looked up as Varric entered with a wry smile. 

“How’s it going, your Inquisitorialness?” Varric asked, wrapping one arm around her waist. 

“Give him a moment.” Maria chided, leaning back against his broad chest. “Y’know, if you keep finding ways to end these meetings early, Leliana is going to have you killed.” 

“You need to rest. Maybe away from Skyhold. If we’re lucky, maybe Cole will take us to Val Royeaux.” Varric whispered playfully. 

“I don’t particularly find Orlais restful.” Maria complained. “You know what I wouldn’t mind? An excuse to visit Ostwick. I just realized this is the longest I’ve been away from the Free Marches. I never thought I’d miss the smell of fish guts or those damn birds, but here I am.” 

“We could run away, Princess.” He offered. “I can show you the best places in Kirkwall.” 

“Leliana would track us down and murder you, then drag me back here by my hair.” She looked up, meeting his eyes. “But I’d listen to that offer later.” 

He couldn’t help the victorious smile as he brushed his lips against her temple. “I’m going to hold you to that, princess.” 

“Can I?” Cole asked, his fingers catching the spinning marker. Maria relinquished it and Cole carefully placed it on Redcliffe Village. “There. It’s wrong there.”

“Well, that’s a short trip at least.” Maria said brightly. “I think I can sneak away for that. Can you see if Solas is okay with leaving tomorrow morning, Cole?”

“Yes. He will be.” Cole answered, nodding determinedly before striding from the room. Maria leaned over the table, fingers barely touching one marker in the center. She made a noise of frustration. 

“Fine idea, this. Big ass table the Inquisitor can’t reach the whole way across. What was Josie thinking?” She muttered. 

“You can climb on top of it.” Varric advised. “Slowly, maybe arch your back a bit.” 

Maria laughed, the sound delicious and sultry, looking over her shoulder. “Are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting?” She asked with a bit of a purr. 

“Only if I’ve got a decent chance of getting away with it.” Varric answered. 

“More than a decent chance, I’d wager.” Maria said coyly, hoisting herself up onto the table and reaching a hand to him. “You know, those three could walk back in any moment…” 

The chances were small, it was highly unlike the Inquisitor to return to the war room after leaving it for the day. Still, it was enough for a hot rush of excitement as he pulled himself up next to her and pushed her down. Markers scattered as she rested her head back against the map, her hair fanned out against the Kocari Wilds, left hand pressed near where Haven had stood. His own knee was between her spread thighs, near Lothering. 

“I’ve always wanted to do this.” Maria gushed, pulling the tie from his hair and tugging the blonde strands just enough to make him hiss lowly. “An erotic invasion of Ferelden.” 

He couldn’t help it, he laughed, capturing her lips as she arched her back off the map, pressing her breasts against his chest. They’d enjoyed each other since her injury, Varric as quite unable to say no to her. But he’d been careful, gentle. Afraid of jostling her head, putting too much pressure on her ribs. Now, his self control was frayed and he wrapped one arm around her waist and tugged her closer to him. He bit her lip just enough to cause her to gasp in delight, then pulled back. “If we’re invading Ferelden, we should do it properly.” He said lowly, running his leather clad thumb along her lips. “The way Fereldens do.” 

She grinned at him wickedly, tongue darting out to taste the leather and soothe her sore lip. “I always heard that was a rumor. Do you have first hand knowledge you’re holding back on me?” She asked, breathless. 

“I’ve no fucking idea.” He admitted, using his strength to flip her over and pressing against her backside. His own hair fell past his chin as he leaned over her, whispering in her ear. “What do you think, Maria?” 

She shuddered with desire, a small moan slipping from her lips as his warm breath tickled her ear. She was on her knees, pressing against him, her hands flailing for purchase and knocking a set of markers that had been resting near the Frostback basin to the floor with a clatter. He reached beneath her, under her tunic and skimmed his gloves up her side, to the breasts nearly falling from her bustier. He squeezed and she pressed her rear against him harder, enticing. “We’re perpetrating Ferelden stereotypes.” She complained breathlessly, dissolving into another moan as his hand bared her breast and the leather rubbed against her deliciously. 

He leaned over her shoulder, capturing her mouth with his for another moment, swallowing her desire as she panted, needy in his hands. “I’ll send a written apology. Straight to the King himself.” He offered, leaning back and beginning to peel the smooth cotton leggings from her delightful ass.

Maria laughed, but her leggings were halfway down her thighs and he was impatient, removing both gloves and tossing them unceremoniously to the ground before dipping an exploring finger into the cleft between her legs and finding it slick with need. He groaned, nearly spilling in his own pants. “Maker, Maria…” He whispered, hoarse. She made a low keening noise as his fingers slipped from her channel to the bundle of nerves, circling it. “How long,  _ exactly _ , have you wanted this?” 

His finger continued to circle, close, but not enough to give her what she wanted desperately. “An embarrassingly long time.” She admitted, panting, the skin on her arms flushed as she gripped the edge of the table, whimpering. Varric chuckled, removing the hand that had been gripping her breasts, deftly undoing his own trousers and pumping his erection slowly, teasingly dragging the tip across her wet slit. She writhed against him, and he couldn’t resist. Slowly, he eased into her. She tossed her head back and choked on her moan, but Varric couldn’t help his from reverberating across the room. She was as tight as a vise like this, and he couldn’t help one hand from gripping her ass hard enough to leave bruises as his other returned to her pearl. 

“Varric, please…” She begged as his finger began to circle again. And her begging beneath him, spread over the map of Ferelden, was enough to break his self control utterly as he withdrew and plunged back into her, maintaining a desperate pace, teasing her, bringing her close, but not there, not yet, even as she whimpered and pleaded. He leaned forward and caught the lobe of her ear in his teeth as he slammed into her again and again. Until finally, when he was so close he knew he could not last longer, he moved his finger to give her the attention she craved. 

She broke instantly, burying her face in her arm to drown out the cry of release. And her orgasm squeezed him, pushed him that last bit so he found himself spent inside her, groaning into her shoulder. He pulled out from her, pulling her into his lap and wrapping his arms tight around her, clutching her like a man drowning. 

“Oh, let’s do that again.” She whispered, content, eyes closed as she rested on his shoulder. 

 

They’d just managed to get the room sorted again when Cullen walked in, scanning a fistful of papers. He looked up at them, surprised. “Inquisitor, Varric. I didn’t think you’d be here…” 

“Business for Cole.” Maria said airily. “I’ll be heading out to Redcliffe with him, Varric, and Solas for a day or two. I’ll let Josie and Leliana know.” 

“Your injuries…” Cullen frowned, sweeping a concerned gaze over Maria. 

“Oh Cullen, what would I do without you to mother me?” Maria teased, patting his shoulder as she passed. 

“Don’t worry, Curly, I’ll take good care of her.” Varric assured, following Maria’s swaying hips. The large door shut behind them and they both shared amused and gleeful expressions, before Maria burst into giggles. 

“He can’t ever know.” She whispered in his ear. “His whole head would explode.” 

 

The next morning, the four of them left before most of Skyhold was awake. With a pretty constant pace, they were able to make it to Redcliffe by late afternoon. Inquisition soldiers stationed outside the town took their mounts and Cole looked around, a strangely glassy expression on his face. “There.” He said, pointing at the statue of the griffon, the one honoring Warden Commander Amell. There was a man there, involved in a rather intense discussion with a dwarf. A Carta dwarf who looked suspiciously familiar. 

“That dwarf is one of ours.” Maria said immediately, then stopped, brow furrowing. “Wait, I’m sorry. He’s one of Nanna and Bea’s now, hm?” 

Varric had to agree, but the other dwarf had seen them and raised a hand in greeting towards Maria. The man he was speaking with turned, staring them down before approaching. 

“Can I help you?” He asked, gruff. Varric opened his mouth to say something, anything, but before he could, Cole cut in. 

“You.” He shouldered past Maria, appearing in a blur of smoke and knocking the man to his knees. “You killed me!” 

Maria looked as startled as Varric felt, but the man was sputtering. “I killed you? I don’t even know you!” 

“You forgot!” Cole cried. “You locked me in the dungeon in the spire and you FORGOT and I DIED in the dark!” The kid’s hands were shaking in rage. Varric was reminded, unfortunately, of Hawke’s rage in the fade, holding Fenris’s broken body. But that hadn’t been real, this… 

“Oh,  _ shit _ .” Maria muttered. 

“Cole, stop!” Solas called, the only one of them thinking properly. Cole jerked back and the man stumbled to his feet, turning to run. The dwarf blinked slowly, holding his hands up as Maria swept her imperious gaze over him. 

“Whoah, boss. I was just sellin’ him lyrium.” He said amiably. 

“I am not…” Maria began, then sighed, waving her hand. “It’s fine, you get paid already?” The dwarf nodded. “Good, get going. Give Nanna my love.” 

Cole was starting to stride after the man, Varric sidestepped into his path. “Take it easy kid.” He began gently. 

“He killed me! He killed me!” Cole raved. “That’s why it doesn’t work. He killed me, and I have to kill him back!” 

“Interesting company you’re keeping now, Cadash.” The other dwarf muttered. 

“Did I stutter when I said get lost?” Maria asked tartly, crossing her arms over her chest. The man wisely retreated and Maria turned to the three of them. “Before we kill anyone, let’s talk this through.” 

“Cole.” Solas began patiently. “This man could not have killed you. You are a spirit who has not even possessed a body.” 

“A broken body.” Cole muttered. “Bloody. Banged on the stone cell. Guts griping in the dark, dank. A captured apostate.” 

Varric’s heart sank as Cole looked at him, wide eyed and hollow. 

_ “How do you know the circle is as bad as they say? You have never been in one.” Fenris argued as they walked back from escorting Feynriel to the Dalish camp.  _

_ “I have.” Anders answered, scowling. “They’re worse than they say.”  _

_ Hawke sighed. Fenris glowered at Anders. “I did not ask your opinion, mage.”  _

_ “Why did we bring them again?” Varric asked.  _

_ “We didn’t want to risk getting eaten by corpses on Sundermont.” Hawke reminded him. “Although that may have been preferable.”  _

_ “If Hawke were in a circle, they’d immediately put her in the fade and offer her to a demon like a tasty morse on a silver platter. Is that what you want to see?” Anders demanded.  _

_ “And you passed this rite?” Fenris snapped.  _

_ “Oh Maker’s ass…” Hawke huffed. “My father and mother worked very hard to keep Bethany and I out of the circle, and my father was in one for a time. I have to believe there was a good reason for it.” _

_ “Fear can be enough of a reason, but hardly a good one.” Fenris offered reasonably. Only Varric caught the sliver of hurt across Hawke’s face before she put on that cheerful bravado.  _

_ “Fenris,” She cajoled. “Surely you don’t think any building could hold me? I’d be walking away from it exploding behind me in hours.”  _

_ “Your talent for destruction is remarkable.” Fenris agreed warily. “Would it not be nice, to be with your own kind?”  _

_ “A vacation from Carver would be nice.” Hawke said dreamily. “Andraste’s tits, I bet they even have real baths. Maybe it would be an upgrade from Gamlen’s.”  _

_ “Hawke, please…” Anders broke in, his voice desperate enough to sober even Hawke as she looked. Varric could see something haunted in his eyes, something frightened to death. Hawke’s smile dropped. “I wish you wouldn’t joke. I couldn’t bear it if… the thought of you in the Gallows. I knew an apostate they brought there once, she said by the time she made it to her harrowing, the templars had… they had taken their way with her. She was never the same after that.” _

_ “Oh Anders…” Hawke softened, as she always did when someone else was upset, holding her arm out and dragging him beside her, looping her arm through his and squeezing his forearm reassuringly. “Don’t worry about me. We’ll make enough money on this expedition to bribe all the templars, and we can throw fireballs together in the market if we wish, hm?”  _

_ “I doubt there is enough money in the world for that, Hawke.” Anders said seriously. “I just wish you were more careful in your choice of company.”  _

_ “I am right here, you know.” Fenris called from behind them. Sighing, Varric dropped back to walk with him.  _

_ “Fenris won’t turn me in, will you?” She said, turning and looking over her shoulder with a careless wink. “He’s gotten fond of me, in spite of himself.”  _

_ Anders couldn’t help but laugh, slipping his arm from hers and wrapping it around her waist instead and giving her a brief squeeze. Hawke leaned up to whisper quietly in Ander’s ear. A low growl sounded from Fenris’s throat, lost to the two in front of him.  _

_ “Don’t you complain now, you caused it.” Varric warned. “Would you really want to see Hawke locked up like some animal at the templars’ mercy?”  _

_ Fenris did not answer, but Varric could see the answer stuck in Fenris’s throat like a piece of stale bread. No, he thought to himself, satisfied. Broody would very much not like that at all.  _

“They threw him into the dungeon in the Spire. They forgot about him. He starved to death. I came through to help and I… I couldn’t. So I became… I became him. Cole.” Cole finished, shoulders slumping. Varric sighed. 

“So that was a templar buying lyrium.” Varric said. “Shit.” 

“Let me kill him.” Cole begged Maria. “I need to kill him… I need to.”

Cole staggered away, shaking his head. Maria looked after him anxiously. “This is really not my area of expertise.” She whispered fervently. 

“We cannot let Cole kill the man.” Solas broke in. 

“I don’t think anyone was going to suggest that, Chuckles.” Varric interrupted. 

“Cole is a spirit. The death of the real Cole wounded him, perverted him from his purpose. To regain that part of himself, he must forgive.” Solas stated emphatically. 

“Come on! You just don’t forgive someone killing you.” Varric scoffed. 

“Fair point, I’m holding a few grudges over nearly being killed.” Maria added. 

“You don’t.” Solas said firmly. “A spirit can.” 

“The kid’s angry, he just needs to work through it.” Varric said calmly, shrugging.

“A spirit does not work through emotions!” Solas exclaimed firmly. “It embodies them.” 

“But he isn’t a spirit, is he?” Varric asked. “He made himself a person, and people change. They get hurt, and they heal.” Like him, like Maria, like Hawke and Fenris. “He needs to work it out like a person.” 

“You would alter the essence of what he is.” Solas accused. 

“It could be argued Cole did that to himself, Solas. He left the fade under his own power and choose to become Cole. Shouldn’t we help him survive that transition?” Maria asked reasonably.

“Or heal a grave wound!” Solas sputtered indignantly. Maria hesitated, eyes flicking to Cole. 

“Maria, trust me.” Varric said, turning to her cool gray eyes. “He’ll never grow if he can’t come to terms with what happened. You know that.” He persuaded. 

“Inquisitor… spirits of compassion are rare, and fragile. We should protect the ones we find, not alter them.” Solas argued. 

Maria sighed, looking at the ground and pushing her fingers through her hair. Then she looked up and met Varric’s eyes, nodding. “Alright. What do you suggest.” 

“Leave it to me, princess.” Varric assured, turning to Cole. “Alright kid, you want revenge? Come with me.” 

“You have made an error based on who you prefer in your bed, Inquisitor.” Solas accused. Varric turned to snap back, but Maria was calmly shaking her head. 

“If I’ve made an error, it’s because I love Cole the way he is, Solas. Not for what he represents.” She answered levely, gesturing for Varric to continued. “I prefer making errors based on sentiment over any other kind of mistake.” 

Solas had no retort for that. 

 

The templar had run to the overlook of the lake, sputtering apologies. It was almost pathetic. Varric took a deep breath, then began. “Sorry isn’t going to help him now, is it kid?” It was abysmal acting, but Cole wasn’t hard to impress. 

“No.” Cole answered. Varric turned his back to the kid, feeling Bianca’s weight in his hands. With a few deft movements, he removed the loaded bolts, stuffing them into his jacket. He winked at Maria as he turned back around, Solas was glaring over her shoulder. Varric pressed the wooden crossbow carefully into Cole’s arms.

“Then pull the trigger, kid, like this. Put him down like a mad dog.” Varric instructed. Cole nodded, hands shaking. It was one thing to kill a man in the heat of battle, another to execute them. He heard an echo in his head, Hawke asking how he wanted to play this as a man he considered a friend once ranted about needing her blood. Days after someone had burst into her home and nearly dragged her from her bed. Would have, if Broody hadn’t been a nasty surprise for the would be kidnappers. 

_ Not if it’s between him and you, Hawke. _

Cole looked through the scope, whole frame shaking like a leaf. The templar pleaded, but Cole was looking through him. “Go ahead, do it.” Varric encouraged.

Cole shouted as he squeezed the trigger. His face paled as soon as the crossbow clicked, the man fell to his knees, but was unscathed, still trembling. Cole turned the crossbow in his hands, staring at it with horror.  

“How are you doin’ kid?” Varric asked, taking Cole’s elbow gently. “Feel any better?” 

“No.” Cole half-sobbed. 

“Killing him won’t just make it all go away. You can’t make any of this pain just go away. I learned that the hard way.” Varric explained sympathetically. 

Cole raised his hands, mumbling the word forget towards the templar. Varric seized his wrist quickly, shaking his head. “No. He needs to remember. You do too.” Varric glared at the templar. “We’re done here.” 

He turned around, and Cole wheeled into Maria’s arms as the templar ran past them, dropping to his knees. Maria shushed him, making small comforting noises. 

“For all we know, the amulet will now never function. Cole remains vulnerable to binding” Solas said mournfully. 

“No he isn’t.” Varric argued. “The amulet didn’t work because he’s too human. Now he’s too human for binding, right?” 

“I hope you’re right.” Solas sighed. 

“It still hurts, when does it stop hurting?” Cole asked, looking into Maria’s eyes. She sighed, kissing his cheek sweetly.

“When you figure that out, Cole, let me know.” She answered. “We’ll help you.” 

“C’mon kid.” Varric said, hoisting Cole to his feet. “Let’s take a walk. It’ll clear your head.” 

“I’ll get us rooms at the Tavern.” Maria offered, stepping back. “And see if I can’t get soldiers to catch that templar. I’m all for some justice.” 

 

Maria was waiting for him outside the tavern as dusk fell, draped in shadows. “Where’s Cole?” She asked, taking his arm. 

“Talking to some baby animals in a barn. He’ll be fine.” Varric said, bringing her knuckles to his lip. “Thank you, for trusting me.” 

“It was sweet, seeing you hand over that crossbow. I’ve never seen you let anyone else touch it. Not even Hawke.” Maria observed slyly. 

“Have you met Hawke? The woman can break things just by looking at them.” Varric said wryly. “I’ll teach you to use her, if you’d like.” 

Maria wrinkled her nose, taking in Bianca’s gears skeptically. “No thanks. What did Sera say? Too winchy.” 

Varric couldn’t help but grin, resting his forehead against hers. “Let’s go get an ale, hm?” He asked. Maria smiled. 

 

They were woken in the morning by an Inquisition scout knocking on the door. Maria, cursing, through his tunic on over her shoulders and opened the door roughly. “What?” She snapped, aggravated. Mutely, the messenger dropped a letter in her hand before backing away. She sighed, unrolling the scroll in her hand as Varric rubbed sleep from his eyes. 

“Oh fuck.” Maria said, color draining from her face. “Fuck…” 

“What is it?” Varric asked, concerned. She looked up at him, mounting horror on her face. And he knew, he knew even though she didn’t say anything. 

“Are they still alive?” He asked, his mind tumbling into the abyss. Hawke, laughing, swinging her staff with a joy he’d never seen in an apostate. Fenris, smirking over his wine as he laid his cards down. Alive, they had to be. “Maria?” He asked, his voice breaking on the syllable. 

“Yes.” She answered, and Varric closed his eyes in relief.

“Let me guess, Minrathous is on fire?” He asked dully. Maria sighed. 

“Well, yes. That appears to be exactly what happened.” 


	47. Broken Wings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris remembers bits of his life before. The family attempts to escape Minrathous. Fenris learns a secret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (NSFW right at the beginning for sexy times)

 

When he made it back out to the kitchen courtyard,  he felt like he could not breathe. His heart pounded, blood rushed in his ears, and…

_ Varania was six, crying at the scorch marks she’d left on the floor when she'd tried to light the fire. His mother was scolding her, fear in every symbol, and he was scrubbing the marks viciously.  _

He rested his throbbing head against the grit of the bricks. Lucia whined and he shushed her quickly. She sat on her heels, head cocked inquisitively to the side. Fenris opened his mouth to order her to return to Hawke, but another earp stab of pain dug into his temple. 

_ So pleased when the pretty glass beads rolled under the bureau next to his feet. Fighting the urge not to look, not to give it away. To remain perfectly still and attentive, yet disinterested. But Varania would be so thrilled when he retrieved them for her.  _

He spat out a curse and curled his hands into fists, sliding down the wall. Part of him, a rather large part, felt like he may be as ill as Hawke had been lately. Venhedis, this was worse than the night he had first spent with Hawke. The memories were coming and staying,  an ache in his very bones. The lyrium flickered, bright flashes against the stone. 

_ There was a door in a hallway that was too quiet and fear in his stomach, a tight knot of dread. Missing, she'd been missing too long and no one knew where she had gone. He had few places to check before he forced himself to search where they sometimes hid the bodies, the evidence of their blood magic, for a hint of red hair.  _

He had loved her. He could feel it in the remembered fear, so similar to what he'd felt when Hawke had fallen into the abyss, when she'd laid bleeding on the marble tiles of the Viscount's throne room. He had feared for Varania the same way. He had brought her shiny, smooth glass beads as trinket to make her smile. He had hid her magic (the irony, Anders would have gotten great joy from learning that six years ago) as Hawke’s parents had hid hers. Somehow, this made things much more complicated rather than less. Had she loved him with the same fierce, unflinching loyalty of Carver? Had she betrayed him for profit as Bartrand had Varric, or because she had no choice?

And truly, it did not matter. He had sacrificed his entire being once to set Varania free, gone through unspeakable agony, lost every shred of himself. Somehow, that sacrifice had created a path that led to dead slavers in the alienage and Hawke's lyrium blue eyes. Along the path, the body of his former master joined scores of others. And now, the road he had chosen, even though he did not remember the original choice, had brought him back to this cursed city. Undoubtedly, a different man then when he'd last left. He returned as a man who had loved, been loved in return. He returned with chains of his own making, tying him to his wife, to a dwarf with a sharp tongue and heart of gold, to a pirate and a guard captain and her husband, a prince who was a priest, to a warden… no, two wardens if he was being completely honest. One quite possibly still using blood magic. 

He was a man who had learned to break chains and make them. He was a murderer and, unbelievably, some sort of folk hero. Then he thought of Varania and her weary, troubled face and a skinny child clutching onto Hawke, curious and frightened green eyes staring into his back.

Did he also want to be a brother and an uncle? Fenris turned, pressing his back against the hard rough stone and leaning his head against it. A voice in his heart whispered that he could finally reclaim all that had been taken from him. 

A more sensible voice in his head reminded him that it was dangerous to desire, to want anything for his own. Especially here, especially now.

 

It was hours later that he returned, stealing into the courtyard like a thief in the night. He opened the door and Lucia padded past him, settling in her usual spot after sniffing the sleeping forms in the bed, barely illuminated by the guttering lantern. Sabina looked peaceful, untroubled, arms splayed above her head. Beside her, curled protectively between the door and her daughter, Varania slept with an arm draped over Sabina. 

It was a private moment between a mother and her daughter, he should not be spying. Still, he couldn't help but take an intrusive step forward. He searched Varania's face, for what he did not know. She looked like a younger woman when she slept, the lines that had been present around her eyes and brow smoothed. Her breath stirred Sabina’s curls. 

He tore his eyes away, toward the nest of blankets he shared with Hawke. Lucia has already shut her eyes nearby, but there was no figure in the blankets. His heart jumped to his throat in fear, but Hawke’s staff was still in the room, cleaned neatly. She’d cleaned his blade as well and it shone dimly in the light. She was somewhere close then, he thought, retreating from the room and shutting the door behind him. He searched the courtyard, not quite in a panic, but not daring to relax until he spotted her. He’d crept right past her, lost in his thoughts as she appeared lost in hers. She was wearing a long shirt, one of his actually that came down to just about the middle of her thigh, and it appeared nothing else. Her hair was plaited neatly, falling to her waist. A pair of leggings was folded neatly on a bench and Hawke was standing in the Magister’s large fountain, inspecting the water tumbling from the ledges, the first as high as her waist, the second at the level of her head, the third even higher than that. The basins were so large, at least ten could bathe in them. Of course, it wasn’t meant for that purpose. It was meant to be pretty. He approached silently, pausing outside the fountain and watching her. 

She dipped her fingers, pale and milky white in the starlight, into the water and let it fall past them. Her head tipped to the side introspectively as she watched the water part, then resume as she pulled her fingers back. She touched the smooth marble of the basin, traced her delicate fingers across it. 

“What in the Maker’s name are you doing, half-dressed, in an ornamental fountain?” He asked finally, bewildered. Hawke startled, turning to face him with an apologetic grin. 

“I can explain.” She began, reaching out her wet hands to him. “I was bored, waiting for you, and well, I wanted to see how it worked. I thought it may be magic. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“It is not magic, there are wheels and pumps. We have many of these in Tevinter.” Fenris explained. “If I knew where the mechanisms were kept here, I would show you.” 

“Maybe if we ever go back to Kirkwall, you could design one for the estate.” Hawke said, brightly, but her face was mournful. “Maybe if we ever have a normal life, hm?” 

“Is that what you wish? A normal life?” Fenris asked, reaching out to take one of her hands. Despite the warm night, her skin was cool from the water. She sighed. 

“Would that be so very bad?” She asked. And Fenris, for the first time, thought that if that was what she wished, it was hers. He was a man that could give that to her. He opened his mouth to answer her, but Hawke had turned her face up to the moon. It turned her skin to silver and momentarily took his breath away. 

“I spoke to Varania, before she fell asleep. Danarius knew about Sabina, knew her father was a slave. He was the one who showed up with your letter.” She paused, bit her lip. “He offered to fix it. Make their lives better in return for her help luring you to him.” 

“He would not have kept his promise.” Fenris responded. 

“I don't believe she truly expected him to. But she thought he would take Sabina and give her to that Magister and she’s terrified of that man. He found out she was a mage and tried to…” Hawke struggled, her mouth souring on the word. “Obtain her. From Danarius.” 

“But he did not.” Fenris surmised. 

“No.” Hawke hesitated. “You received your boon from Danarius instead and used it to free her and your mother. She believes Leto died in her place.” 

“And what do you think?”  Fenris asked. Hawe smiled, brief but sure. 

“Risking life and limb to rescue someone you cared for from an impossible situation? I don't know amatus, it sounds exactly like something you'd do.” She teased, bringing her cool fingers to his cheek and staring into his eyes. “The best man I’ve ever met.” She whispered softly. 

A broken man, a man who had watched children murdered and done nothing. A man who had dragged his wife into danger to satisfy his own wretched curiosity. A man who had left her once, terrified by the strength of his feelings and the memories they dragged to the surface. He was a coward, had always been a coward. Perhaps Leto had not been. 

“Well, she’s agreed to come with us. At any rate. I’m not sure she has a whole lot of options, but… we’ll deal with the rest of it later.” Hawke mused. “It’ll sound crazy, but I’d been hoping this place would bring back some happy memories too, Fenris.” 

Fenris looked at her like she was mad, and she laughed, her head thrown back in delight at the expression on his face. “Oh come on.” She pressed, leaning forward to press her lips against his cheek. “Was it too much to ask that there was something about your home that was good? I hated those last months in Kirkwall, but I had you, and I remember that fondly at least.” 

Any good memories of this place had been stolen by blood magic and power hungry Magisters, he wanted to snap. He couldn’t quite bring himself to do so, partially because he knew it may have been true before Hawke had stepped into Minrathous, but was not true now. He now had memories of her, wide eyed in the bazaar, gawking at the Circle tower, smiling at a troupe of dancers they passed. Then there had been the sight of her, shifting a child’s weight onto her hip as they slipped into his courtyard, Tevene spilling in a childish stream from Sabina’s lips and dark hair (Hawke’s hair, but with more curls) and green eyes (his eyes). 

How she was now, bare but for his tunic in a fountain with water cascading behind her back in a curtain. And he smiled, wicked and selfish and hungry. He took a step back, raising the tunic he wore over his head and tossing it on the bench next to her leggings. She grinned, wicked and delighted, as he unlaced his trousers and tugged them down. 

“I’ve been a terrible influence on you.” She observed. “What would Varric say?” 

Fenris could not help the low chuckle that escaped from his throat. “We should never tell him. He might put in a book, and I’d be left with little choice but to kill him.” He stepped over the edge of the fountain, the water coming up to his calves as he waded in after Hawke, allowing her to retreat to the next terrace, water falling over it into the basin where they stood. Her curved rear hit the ledge and she shivered at the cool water running down her thighs. 

Fenris captured her waist in his arms, pressing the length of his body against hers. The water from the tallest level crashed behind her and he smirked, pushing her up onto the ledge so she sat. Her legs wrapped around his waist immediately. She was wearing smalls under the tunic, unfortunately. It could be rectified, however. He crashed his lips to hers, demanding, bruising as she opened beneath him. A moan escaped her and he swallowed it, desperate for more as his hands ran up waist, skimming her ribs. She’d grown thin before she’d disappeared and taken off to join the Inquisition, so thin he’d been able to count her ribs when they made love. She had never ate enough when she was upset. Even when they left Adamant, she’d still been frail. Now, she was healthy again, her flesh firm beneath his fingers, curves pressed against him.  

He pulled away, just for a moment to stare into her blue eyes, capture her flushed cheeks. “Lean back.” He ordered, arms wrapping around her waist. 

She did not ask him to hold her steady or make him promise not to let her fall. Perhaps, he thought wryly, that was for new lovers and not those married. But he could never remember Hawke asking him to have her back, to support her. She had simply walked ahead and assumed he would.

Foolish woman, too trusting for her own good. Still, it pleased him to no end when she did lean back, letting the water cascade over her head and shoulders like a thick curtain. Laughing, sputtering,  she reached for his shoulders and he pulled her from the torrent, then leaned back himself to watch. 

Her braid was plastered to her back now, strands of wet hair curling around her face. Her eyes sparkled with merriment and arousal, rivulets of water falling from her pointed chin down her swan like neck and disappearing over the gentle rise and fall of her cleavage. The tunic, his tunic he thought primally, was pasted to her skin. The white cotton turned sheer by the water, hiding nothing from his roaming eyes. It clung to her full breasts, the hard peaks of her nipples clearly visible.

“Do I make a pretty picture?” She asked. “Or am I more like a drowned cat?” 

“You are the most beautiful creature to ever step foot in Minrathous.” He answered, and she flushed pink with delight. This, he thought as he tried to engrave the moment in his memory, would be what he took with him from Tevinter. His wife, beautiful in the moonlight, desire clear in her eyes. The Magisters could keep what they had already stolen, but this they could never have. 

He lowered his mouth to take her nipple in between his lips, sucking through the wet and dripping cotton. Her skin was so cool now, especially against his that felt fevered from desire. She arched her back to offer her breasts to his mouth as her slim fingers tangled in his hair. He swept his tongue over the tunic, to the other nipple. Then up, nipping gently, the proud line of her neck and jaw before capturing her lips again as his fingers slid along her sleek thighs. Teasing lightly as her fingers dug into his shoulder, dancing nearer and nearer to where she desired until she moaned in frustration and finally, he pulled the cool, soaking fabric to the side and slid a finger into her molten heat.

The sound she made was so loud that he raised the other hand thoughtlessly to her mouth the muffle it. She closed her eyes and tipped her hips closer to him, thighs trembling. Slowly, he took his hand away and guided himself into her slick, warm sheath. 

She wrapped around him like a vine, arms and legs tight against him. Her lips were pressed to his shoulder to muffle her cries as he moved, sinking deeper with each thrust. He was whispering to her in broken Tevene, that he loved her, that she was his, and last of all her name as she tightened and spasmed around him, dragging him into the abyss after her. 

 

He woke up still tangled around Hawke, but the unexpected noise had him reaching for sword and her for staff before either of them could think. But it was only Ivy in the door, her face wearing an expression that made the blood in his veins turn cold. The girl was afraid, and it would take a fair amount to frighten a girl who'd been a slave, a fugitive, fought furiously for a holy Inquisition, and had survived both the Conclave and an archdemon. 

“What is it?” Hawke asked, one hand still gripping her staff, the other resting on her abdomen. 

Ivy at first looked like she would say nothing, but instead she stepped into the room, shutting the door behind her. This cast the room back into shadow. From the corner of his eye he saw Varania shift, sitting straighter, face impassive. At last,  Ivy spoke. “Magister Corix has reported that you were at the docks last night, that you murdered two dozen mercenaries who were attempting to reclaim lost property.” 

Hawke hissed dangerously. Ivy continued on, voice weary. “He raced to the Archon and demanded an audience. Made a damn scene asking for resources to put your head on a platter. Or course, he was overheard by the Archon's slaves. As he meant to be, I'm sure.” Ivy stopped, glaring into thin air. “Everyone  knows you are in Minrathous, Fenris. The slaves and liberati are in revolt, thinking you're here to lead them in an uprising. The Magisters are trying to clamp down.”

“Is Maevaris in danger?” Hawke asked softly. Ivy rolled her eyes. 

“The Magister is quite good at riding out trouble.  Besides, she's got Tamar here as an official Inquisition representative. I think they're hanging an Inquisition banner outside just to be safe. Y'know, with the hairy eyeball.” Ivy made a gesture with her hands that was at once comical and blasphemous. “You all have to leave now, after the revolt is put down, it'll be near impossible to sneak out for months. 

“It will be dangerous, Reyna. For you.” Fenris said, turning to Hawke. Her eyes widened in surprise, head tipping to the side inquisitively. “You are a human, and a mage. It will be difficult for the mob to not see you as one of the Magisters.” 

“She can take Sabina, hold her hand or carry her. They’ll assume she’s an elf with an elven child in her arms.” Varania was thinking aloud, already standing. “How will we get out?”

“I can get you out the same way I did, the first time.” Ivy said, nodding. “Get ready.” 

 

They dressed quickly, Fenris replacing his clothes with his armor. Hawke had tried to argue for hers, but was rejected quickly when Varania had opened the Tale of the Champion and pointed to a fine portrait of Hawke in her distinctive armor. Sabina was awoken and dressed quickly, food and drink poured into her as Varania made promises. Items were packed, slung over shoulders and hips. Hawke picked up her staff, but Fenris shook his head. “You cannot carry that, they’ll know you’re a mage.” 

“Fenris, it’s my father’s. I’m not leaving it here.” Hawke argued. 

“We will leave mine, I’ll carry hers.” Varania offered. 

“And what will you fight with if we need you to?” Hawke asked impatiently. Varania had tied a sash around her waist. 

“I do not need a staff to fight.” Varania said quietly. “I was not trained in combat that way.”

Hawke scoffed, turning back to their bags with little fight left in her, but Fenris eyed Varania curiously as she slipped the hilt of a sword, lacking it’s blade, from the pouch she had carried and tucked it into her sash. 

The city right outside the Magister’s estate was quiet, unusually so. This, Fenris thought, would be the last place the slaves would attack. First, they would attempt to take the city barracks. Perhaps they would burn and kill their Masters. He could smell smoke on the air as he guided Hawke outside the estate, Sabina’s hand held tightly in hers and a cloak pulled up to hide her human ears. Varania had Hawke’s staff over her shoulder, but her hood pulled down to reveal the bright red hair. Ivy also had her hood down. Fenris kept his up, but kept his sword unsheathed and ready at his side. 

Ivy had escaped and returned to Minrathous the same way, a tunnel from one of the insulae and under the city walls, emerging in a barn several miles from Minrathous. From there, one had choices. Ivy had made a beeline to the Free Marches, but there was a direct route to Nevarra. There, the Inquisition had a presence. Varric would be able to reach them there, bring them to Skyhold or another safe place. 

As they moved down the back alleys, Fenris could hear screaming, the clash of battle, the looting of businesses. Several times they found themselves face to face with rebellious slaves, but the men and women ignored them as they ran with their makeshift or stolen weapons. Once, they’d come up against a lone Imperium soldier who had ordered them to halt. 

“Close your eyes, pup.” Hawke directed, kneeling down beside Sabina and hiding the girl in her cloak right before Ivy’s dagger sliced a wicked line through the man’s throat. Hawke said nothing else, picking up the girl and holding her to her chest. Lucia growled at their heels, looking at the man, then down the rest of the alley. 

“It is almost done, Bina.” Varania soothed as the girl began to cry. “We will be gone soon, dulce meum.” 

It was in the insulaes that the fighting had become fierce. Slaves and liberati retreating to their homes, followed by wrathful mages with hands of fire. The heat was so fierce from the burning buildings that sweat dripped down Fenris’s skin. They were lost in the mob now, the press of bodies fierce as streams of elves knocked them to the side, fleeing danger or rushing towards it. Fenris saw several slaves fall to a mage using blood magic, their eyes popping open as they fell. Unable to help himself, he slashed his blade down the unguarded back of the mage, dropping him as well. Lucia leaped to the mage’s partner and ripped a hole in the man’s throat. 

“Now is not the time to be a hero!” Ivy called as several bodies fell off the building to their right, people who had been trapped in the burning insulae. Varania winced, but kept her eyes glued to Hawke and Ivy. Fenris whistled and Lucia joined his side again. 

Ivy stopped at one of the burning insulae, wrenching open doors into a basement. Smoke wafted out from it leisurely. “We’ll have to hurry, if the building collapses this part of the tunnel will go.” 

Hawke placed Sabina down, taking her staff from Varania as the two crawled into the basement of the building. She dropped down after them, followed by Fenris and then Ivy, who shut the door behind her. The haze of smoke was not thick, but worrisome nevertheless as Ivy pushed past them, beginning to lead. Against another wall, she began to move barrels and crates. Hawke impatiently sent them all scattering in different directions, exposing the tunnel. 

From below the city, the smoke and flames and screams seemed distant. Sabina had opened her eyes again and was clenching her mother’s hand fearfully. Hawke lowered her hood, sending cautious glances back over her shoulder as they moved. Finally, they came to a place where the tunnel ended, a ledge over them the next step in their journey. 

“There’s a rope up there, I’ll send it down.” Ivy said, looking at the top of the ledge. “Boost me up, grandpa?” She asked cheekily, sending a grin at Fenris. 

“You are insufferable.” He groaned as he created a cup for her to step into, launching the thin girl upwards. She scuffled above them for a few moments before dropping a rope, then reaching down to take Sabina from Varania. Hawke used her magic to levitate Lucia up, the dog whining and looking down at the two of them. 

“Stay with the child.” Fenris ordered the dog as Varania made her way up the rope. Lucia barked, retreating to behind Ivy. Struggling, Varania made her way to the top and Hawke took the rope, beginning her own climb.

Fenris heard the whistling of the knife before it buried itself in Hawke’s shoulder, but didn’t have enough time to stop it. The blade sunk nearly to the hilt and Hawke yelped, grip slipping and sliding back down the rope, nearly falling into Fenris. Cursing, she reached for the hilt of the blade and pulled it out, dropping the bloodstained implement. 

“Hawke!” Ivy yelled. 

“Go!” Hawke yelled back, placing her hand over he shoulder as Fenris stood in front of her, lyrium markings flickering. Several soldiers had appeared, along with a man dressed in long, crimson robes, grinning cruelly. “Maker’s tits, go!” Hawke yelled again, pulling the rope down to let it coil at their feet. Cutting off their pursuers from following.

Fenris was not paying attention, he was counting the men. Six, Hawke and he had made it through worse. But there was something unnerving about the man’s possessive smirk as Varania, Ivy, Lucia, and Sabina retreated above them. 

“I’d stop wasting your time trying to heal that wound, Serah Hawke.” The mage said, voice silken and sinister at the same time. “That dagger was covered in magebane, so healing that wound will be quite impossible. In fact, any magic at all will be impossible in…” 

That would be a complication, but Hawke was already calling fire, her mana pulling and tossing the flames. A barrier sprung up in front of the man and his soldiers as he smirked. Hawke’s fire did nothing. Fenris charged.

He was not prepared for the agony, for the burst of searing pain against every lyrium line in his body. It had been so long since it had occurred, since the lyrium’s power had been pulled forcibly from his skin. His lungs burned, and he didn’t realize at first that the scream he’d heard had been his. He was on his hands and knees, his sword discarded, breath coming rapidly as the pain burned, muscles spasmed. 

“Stop!” It was Hawke, her voice, her panic. She was at his side, trying to pull mana from her blood to soothe his pain. The pain was diminishing, but his muscles were weak. And the man in front of them was surrounded with the power of Fenris’s lyrium. 

“Little wolf, did you know it was my idea? Bringing back the lyrium warrior. Danarius, with his resources, stole the idea of his apprentice. But all along, you’ve belonged to me. I alone know the secrets behind the ritual. I alone, now, know how to pull this power from you without touch.” The Magister broke from his soldiers, taking a step forward. “Champion! I’ve been dying to meet you as well, the woman Danarius so underestimated…” 

Hawke called her fire forward again, he could feel the faint stir of mana, but it vanished in her palm. She stood, shaky, unsure, staff gripped in her hands. With a suddenness born of desperation, she lashed out with the blade of her staff, quick as a snake. The staff blade caught the Magister’s waist, but another soldier had appeared and was pulling the staff from Hawke. The blood from the scratch fell to the floor and the Magister sneered as the other soldier forced Hawke’s twisting body to her knees. Her teeth sunk into a wrist and the man backhanded her heavily with a steel gauntlet, enough for Hawke’s lip to bleed. The Magister reached forward as Hawke’s arms were twisted behind her back, gripping her chin and forcing Hawke’s burning blue eyes to his. 

“My name is Magister Corix, Champion. It will be a pleasure to be the one breaking those wings of yours.” He whispered, as soft as a lover. Fenris fought the pain, the weakness, pushing himself up and grasping for his sword. He had it in his hands only for a second before the agony washed over him again and Hawke screamed, lurching forward toward the Magister. Fenris collapsed again, his skin on fire, stomach roiling with acid from the pain. 

“Oh…” The Magister said, running one long finger down Hawke’s cheek as she tried to pull away. “I will enjoy this. Tell me, Champion, does that baby inside you belong to this wild dog?” 

Hawke said nothing. Fenris felt like he could not have heard correctly, past the labored sound of his breathing, the panic in his heart, the rushing of blood to his head. He looked over, to the blurred form of Hawke. The Magister chuckled, and white hot pain lanced through him again, causing him to spasm, to try to curl in on himself, to rip his own skin off if only it would stop. And he could hear Hawke, hear her yelling as the pain finally died down to only a dull but constant throb through his weak muscles. 

“Answer, or I do it again.” The Magister said conversationally. “That life within you, did this slave put it there?” 

“Fenris is not a slave.” Hawke spat out, tears choking her voice. The man raised his hand again, Fenris braced himself, but Hawke cried out. “Yes!”

Fenris felt the bottom of his world fall out, pieces beginning to fit together. Hawke’s rounded curves, her insatiable appetite, the nausea. He looked to her again, her blue eyes burning into him. Ander’s words in the dream…

If they didn’t die here, he was going to kill her himself. 

The man laughed, gently stroking Hawke’s cheek. “Delightful. Three for the price of one. Or perhaps we’ll cut it from you, and let him watch, hm?” 

“You bastard.” Hawke growled. “I swear, I’ll rip you limb from limb. They’ll find pieces when I’m done.” 

“Big words from a little girl.” The man said idly. “Tie them up.” He ordered his soldiers. 


	48. From the Ashes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varania has gotten good at one thing, if one thing only.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heavily implied sexual/child abuse and rape. Nothing explicit. Trigger warnings are applicable.

_ “The first apprentice has purchased himself a secretary.” The washing woman whispered. “They say he can read and write. He’s not bad on the eyes, either.”  _

_ “How do you know?” Another girl asked, mouth hanging open as she wrung out a shirt, hair sticking to her face in damp tendrils.  _

_ “I went to his quarters to drop off his clean linens.” The first woman said, nonchalantly. An older woman hissed, cuffing the first on the head.  _

_ “Foolish girl!” The elderly woman cursed. “You’re lucky you escaped from harm! You know what happens to women Dominus Corix lingers on.”  _

_ “Varania!” Her mother called, sorting through the laundry. Eleni looked up, green eyes annoyed. “Stop listening to those ninnies gossip, dulce meum, come here.”  _

 

_ The first time she saw the secretary was when he was speaking with Leto, asking directions to somewhere in the estate. His skin was darker than Leto’s, his hands fine, with long thin fingers. Leto, who could certainly be prickly, was listening to the man attentively as he gestured. Varania paused, unwilling to interrupt, watching the two men talk. She held the bundled bread and cured meat, Leto’s evening meal since he must stand watch all night and shifted from foot to foot.  _

_ “You have an admirer.” The man finally said, jutting his chin behind Leto’s shoulder. Leto turned, wary, but then his expression softened.  _

_ “Oh?” Leto asked, turning, before beckoning her forward with a wry smile. “Have you met Dominus Corix’s new secretary?”  _

_ “I have not.” Varania answered, just as wary. “My name is Varania.”  _

_ “My sister.” Leto said, an edge of warning in his voice that made Varania nearly roll her eyes. The man smiled, teeth bright and white against his skin. His darks eyes were pleasant, but weary and sad.  _

_ “Ah. Not an admirer then, but a devoted sibling. My mistake. I am Nico.” He inclined his head prettily, politely. “Your brother was assisting me with finding my way.”  _

_ “It’s part of my duty.” Leto said formally. “My sister and I usually take this meal together, if you please.”  _

_ A dismissal, clear as day. The man nodded, then paused, eyes flicking between the two of them. “Thank you for your assistance. Allow me to return the favor?”  _

_ Leto said nothing, only inclined his head for the man to continue. “You have...heard rumors of Dominus Corix? His… inclinations?”  _

_ “We have.” Leto said, brow furrowing. But it was to Varania that Nico’s eyes swung. And yes, those dark eyes held more sorrow than Varania had ever seen before in another person. It made her want to reach out, to bring a smile to them somehow.  _

_ “I recommend keeping yourself as far from him as possible. He enjoys women of your particular beauty most and he is not kind.” The man bowed a little, then turned as if on a wheel, taking off away from the wall. Leto glared after him, his fist curling into itself and eyes hardening.  _

_ “Don’t be angry at the messenger.” Varania chided, reaching out and smoothing his fist back open. “I know to be even more careful now, yes?”  _

_ “I doubt you needed the extra warning.” Leto complained, looking downward. “Your loss would break mother’s heart.”  _

_ “Not nearly as much as yours would.” Varania teased. “It’s why she packed your favorite for you.”  _

 

_ It was not the last time she saw Nico. In fact, despite herself (and kept secret from mother and Leto), she had made a game of it to spot him. It was easy, with his dark skin and penchant for getting lost. Varania, humming one day, watched him stumble into the kitchen courtyard three times from three different directions, looking steadily more cross each time. The final time, she laughed aloud and he turned to her, arching an eyebrow imperiously. “It is unkind to allow a man to stumble around lost for so long.”  _

_ “I have often been accused of being unkind.” Varania said, shaking her head and standing, the mending she was doing tumbling forgotten from her lap.  _

_ “I have noticed that. You keep very much to yourself, I hardly see you with anyone except your brother. Surely, a girl of your age would be more content to gossip with the others?” Nico asked.  _

_ “You see too much, then.” Varania observed, tipping her chin up. The man spread his fine hands, tapered fingers in the air.  _

_ “I apologize. Perhaps you are above such idle pursuits?” He said graciously. “Perhaps, more inclined to the helpful? Such as pointing a man in the correct direction to the Master’s greenhouses?”  _

_ The other girls did not carry Varania’s secret, Leto’s warning dancing in her ears. If the Master knew there was magic in her blood, she would be in mortal danger. No one must ever know, his green eyes shining with fear as he whispered it to her. But she was no longer a child, entering her sixteenth year. She could keep her secret and perhaps make a friend. Was it so wrong to want that?  _

_ Yes, her heart whispered. Desire is not for slaves.  _

_ Still, she dumped her mending in her basket and slung it over her arm. “I’ll show you the way. And you won’t be able to call me unkind again.”  _

_ “I would never dream of it, Varania.” He said, with a smile bordering on sweet.  _

 

_ “Silus told me he saw you walking with Dominus Corix’s secretary.” Leto said quietly that evening as Varania embroidered silver flowers in the firelight. _

_ “Do you have all the guards watching me?” Varania asked impatiently, jabbing the needle into the cloth. Leto stared into the flames, his green eyes capturing their heat.  _

_ “I have asked some to watch out for you, yes. Is that not my responsibility?” He questioned tartly. Varania rolled her own eyes.  _

_ “I escorted him to the greenhouse after watching him stumble around like a fool for nearly an hour. I believe even you would have taken pity on him.” Varania snapped the thread with a swift pull, knotting it before looking up into Leto’s eyes. “I fail to see why you can assist him and I cannot.”  _

_ “He does not consider me beautiful, that is why.” Leto answered, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers. Varania could not help the slow curl of satisfaction in her belly and schooled her features to hide it from her face.  _

_ “I am sure he did not mean to hurt your feelings, you are just as beautiful as I am.” She teased instead. Leto groaned and Varania put aside the embroidery, laughing.  _

_ “Let’s not fight. Tell me instead about this tournament I’ve heard rumors of. Is it true the winner can ask for anything?” She asked, wide eyed. Leto frowned.  _

_ “So it is said.” He said slowly. “In exchange for… undergoing a ritual designed to make a better warrior. The winner is assured a high place in addition to a one-time boon of anything his heart desires. I am not sure I trust it.”  _

_ Varania sighed, her shoulders slumping. “It does seem too good to be true, doesn’t it? Pity. What would you ask for? I’d want a fortune of my own.”  _

_ “Perhaps I’d ask for a pet dragon. I’d certainly enjoy seeing the Magister scramble for that.” Leto chuckled, low in his throat. _

_ “They say you can read and write.” Varania said one day as she perched in her usual spot in the hall. It was raining, forcing her to sew inside. She was repairing a robe of the Master’s, had the soft silk spread over her knees. Nico was tallying figures in a book.  _

_ “I can.” His lips quirked up, dark eyes sparkling. “How old are you, Varania?”  _

_ “I’ll be seventeen soon.” She raised her chin in a challenge.  _

_ “A child.” He sounded wistful, eyes soft when he looked at her. “I’m nearly twenty-four. Older than your brother.”  _

_ “And?” She challenged, trying her best to be unconcerned. “Am I too old to be curious?”  _

_ “Never too old for that, I think. Here.” He took a pitcher of water, poured some on the waved table. She watched, almost hungry, as he dipped his finger in the cool water and traced an incomplete triangle on the table. “This is a V. For Varania.”  _

_ She placed the needle carefully in the silk, reaching out to trace the letter with her own finger. She could feel herself beaming. She studied the man before her from under her lashes. “Will you teach me?” She asked, girlish in her excitement. Nico chuckled.  _

_ “Would your brother not be angry at me?” He asked. Varania stiffled her groan.  _

_ “I care not a whit if he is.” She answered, straightening her spine.  _

 

_ She was not supposed to be in the servant’s garden, where herbs were grown. It was not where she usually went, it was too close to the Master’s own sculpted, beautiful gardens for her comfort. It was not even her job to spread the clean linens out in the sunshine over the bushes and on the lines. But it was a beautiful day and Mother had been shorthanded, two girls down with illnesses, so she had volunteered. The linen smelt so clean, the leaves were bright green against the sun. The wind caught her hair and teased it free of its bun. Earlier that morning, Nico had smiled at her from across the hall. So Varania sang, the words and melody falling from her lips as she tossed the great white sheets into the air, watched as they settled like great birds over the rope.  _

_ She should not have been singing. If she had not, perhaps… but she was. And he heard.  _

_ “What a pretty song bird.” The master's most favored, most senior apprentice said with a smile full of sharp points. “And a lovely face to go with it. What is your name, elf?” _

 

_ For days after, nothing happened. Varania felt a near constant dread, could not help but let her eyes flick to the door whenever someone approached. But nothing happened. And when it did, there was an odd relief to it. At least it had happened, the guard (she knew most, but not this one) towering over her as she sat with her mending, she knew she need not dread it anymore.  _

_ “Please, don't take me to him.” She begged, thoughts careening out of control. The grass was abnormally bright, the birds too loud. Mama had hidden oranges for them for after supper. “Please, get Leto…” _

_ The man refused to meet her eyes, even when his grip tightened around her wrists and she could feel her pale skin bruising. “I know your brother, would you have him die to save your virtue?” He asked with a growl that was not completely unkind. Perhaps it would not have been as bad if there weren't some sympathy in it. “Just lie still and act like it hurts more than it does. He likes to think he hurts them.” _

_ Her heart fluttered like a caged bird and she tried to push away from the man's armor. This could not happen, because Leto would be looking for her to bring his supper and mama needed help with her own mending and the mana sang in her blood, her terrible secret whispering she could fight her way out. At Leto's expense, at mother's expense. She could see their faces swimming before her eyes, and then she was shoved into the luxurious room and the door clicked shut behind her with a finality she could not fathom.  _

_ Leto could not save her. Mama could not help her. She was alone in the den of the monster.  _

_ “Varania.” He sighed her name, a smile twisting his features into something even more hideous. He would have been a handsome man, except for those blank eyes. There was no soul behind them. “Nico said he could not find you for me, but here you are. What a delight.” _

 

“They should be following by now.” Ivy’s voice had turned a bit shrill with panic. “I don’t hear them.” 

They had heard nothing since the first scream and the shouts that had followed. Varania could not be sure, her head told her so. Her heart knew different, and she knew that it had been Leto screaming, even if Ivy could not recognize it. If all was well, they should have followed Ivy and Varania’s breakneck escape down the tunnel. And how could it not be okay? The Champion of Kirkwall and The White Wolf of Seheron against a half dozen soldiers and one Magister, it should have been an easy fight. Ivy had been so confident. 

Ivy did not know the Magister in question. 

“Take her.” Varania hardly recognized the words falling from her numb lips as she pressed Sabina into her chest, perhaps for the last time. “Keep going, I will go back for them.” 

“No!” Sabina cried. Varania shushed her. Her daughter squirmed stubbornly. 

“Are you mad?” Ivy hissed. “I don’t know how to take care of a child. I should go.” 

“What good are two daggers against a magister and a contingent of soldiers?” Varania asked. “It seems magic may be of more use.” 

The dog whined at Ivy’s heels, lifting its head. Varania hesitated, looking at the beast. “If we do not return, will the dog be helpful?” 

“If you don’t return, I’m going to bloody well have to sneak out of Tevinter by myself with a child. I could hardly explain a warhound, could I?” Ivy asked, glaring.  

“I’ll take her as well then. You must continue on with Sabina, she must not… she must be free. You understand, yes?” Varania could feel her hands shaking, her heart cracking under the strain. 

Ivy hesitated. “I’ll wait, but not at the barn. About a mile south of there is a hunting lodge, abandoned. I’ll be there, with your girl. See?” Ivy cooed to the child. “Your mama will catch up with us.” 

“Do not wait too long.” Varania cautioned, gripping Sabina’s chin in her hand. “Bina! Listen to me.” 

The child went still, green eyes wide. Varania brought her lips against her daughter’s forehead, feeling the baby smooth skin under her lips. “Mama…” She whimpered. 

“You must be very brave, yes?” Varania began, slowly kneeling and setting the girl down. “Stay with Ivy. Do whatever she says.”

“I’ll come to, mama.” Sabina protested, gripping onto Varania’s shoulders. 

“No, dulce meum.” Varania whispered, feeling hot water sting at her eyes. “I must know you will be safe. No matter what happens, my love, I will always be with you. Be good.” 

Sabina’s eyes shown with tears as Varania stood and Ivy placed a hand on the child’s shoulder. “You’ll catch up, with both of them in tow.” Ivy remarked. 

“I’ve not made a habit of lying to my daughter. I will try my hardest, but that is all I can promise.” Varania let her hand rest on the nest of unruly curls, so like Nico’s. She could feel their softness against her palm. He will not have you, Varania thought. Somehow, that was enough. 

Before she could lose her feeble courage, she turned. She gestured for the dog to follow and she bounded ahead of her. Varania did not turn to acknowledge Sabina’s cry of “Mama!” followed by a choking sob. She reached up, brushing a scalding tear from her own cheek. Varania was good at one thing, if one thing only. She was used to leaving her heart behind her. She reached instead for the hilt tucked in her sash and held it firmly in her hand.

 

Retracing their steps was not difficult, but Varania could not deny the urge to run back to Sabina growing stronger with each step forward. Once or twice, she could swear the dog sensed her reluctance and pushed her forward with it’s strong body and an impatient, low growl. She doubted very much whether the beast would even allow her to retreat now. 

She heard the sound of voices first, quiet and calm. She pulled her hood up, hiding the brightness of her hair as she slowed, moving forward in the shadows of the walls. Her breath seemed too loud, a match for the pounding of her heart. She could peer into the lower level, not directly beneath the ledge, but beyond that. Fenris was nowhere to be seen, but Hawke…

Her lip was split open, blood trickling down her chin. The wound in her shoulder had left blood all down her back, unhealed. The dagger had been laced with magebane, then. One soldier had the woman’s braid wrapped around his gauntlet, tugging her head back sharply as another finished tying knots around her elbows. 

“Open.” A voice that was commanding and beguilingly gentle ordered. Gooseflesh rose over Varania’s arms. Even from where she stood, Varania could see the petite woman’s eyes flash brilliantly with fury. Hawke’s lips remained stubbornly closed. “If you bite like a Ferelden mutt, you get muzzled like one. Open.” 

The Magister was there, a length of rope in his hand.

_ But the rope was a cup and Varania had burned him when he touched her. She had not meant to, but she couldn’t stop herself. Her dress was ripped and she was begging, but she was caught in a trap and they both knew it. Even if she did not drink, he knew she was a mage. He knew, and he would know Leto knew and mama knew. “Magebane. In case you get any more ideas, pet.”  _

The dogs head bumped her hand and it looked to her. Lucia, that was her name. Lucia like light. Light that crept across the floor when the closet door opened and Leto had been there. Leto who had trembled with fury but had whispered that it was not her fault, that he would fix it. And the Magister backhanded Leto’s wife in front of her, so hard the other woman’s head whipped violently to the side. 

Varania’s mana sang, even though Varania had not so much as hummed a note since that day. She could taste iron in her mouth where she bit her own lip in fear. Suddenly, Varania was not afraid. There was nothing left to fear, not with Sabina flown beyond this man’s reach. Mother and Nico were both dead and ashes in the wind. And Leto…

If he was already dead giving them time to flee, Hawke was still alive and with her, his child. She owed him this. 

She held out her open hand and let the magic flow to her fingertips, through the hilt of the blade in her one hand, through her open palm in the other. If the weapons were dipped in magebane, then the soldiers must go first. 

When she embroidered, she saw the pattern clearly in her mind. She saw it now, the four soldiers she could see, two holding Hawke, two keeping watch behind them. She saw the delicate lines of magic beneath their feet, intersecting circles, triangles layered, looping, like silver thread. Leaves forming, vines nearly so real she would think they could be ripped from the fabric. 

Then she knotted the thread of magic, and ripped her needle away with a snap of magic. The cracks were simultaneous, ice leaping over gauntleted feet, climbing over legs, freezing blood and bone. The first man screamed, tried to move, but it was too little, too late. They were all statues of ice. Varania snapped her fingers and they exploded in shards that were red with their blood. 

Hawke sank to her knees, bound hands searching for a fallen blade to cut through her bindings. A blast of magic sent her rolling, but Varania did not see where she stopped. This was the final signal Lucia needed, leaping from the ledge and bounding towards the Magister, teeth sinking rather satisfactorily into flesh and bone of the man’s arm. The remaining two soldiers were yelling from directly below her. Taking a last deep, shaky breath, Varania jumped the ledge herself and turned, just in time to face a sword arching towards her. 

_ Leto laughed, as Varania rubbed her smarting shoulder. It would bruise. Leto shook his head, affecting that infuriatingly superior expression on his face. “You need to be quicker.” He chided, balancing the practice sword on his palm. Varania had a broken mop handle.  _

_ “Again.” She demanded, as imperious as only a ten year old could be. Her fourteen year old brother lifted an eyebrow in question. “I’ll stop it this time.”  _

She raised the hilt of the sword in front of her head, a perfect parry as the energy from her hand formed a blade made of light, of magic more durable than any steel. She felt the blow the whole way down her arm, but the short sword bounced harmlessly away from her head. Her free hand came up to the man’s chest, coursing with electricity that she sent surging through his chest until he fell, twitching at her feet. The second man stood over Fenris’s still form, rope in his hands and mouth agape. Her sword crashed into the unprotected space between helm and breastplate and he dropped, hand clutching bleeding throat. 

The shrill yelp of a dog caught her attention and she turned just in time to see Lucia sliding down the wall of the tunnel. Magister Corix’s bright eyes were fixed on her, bright and almost insane. He grinned, sharp pointed teeth against red lips and a mouth full of blood that he spat on the floor. His arm was bleeding profusely, the dripping  of blood sounding as loud as a waterfall. 

“You’ve gotten old, Varania.” He said mildly, wiping his mouth. “And sentimental. Didn’t you turn him in once to Danarius? Have I not meritted as much? You’re free to go, he is worth much more.” 

Varania sent a wisp of mana into the still form behind her, enough to be sure he breathed still. Then she stood, silent, blade ready. The Magister stared, then laughed. “Really? No pleading? No begging? You know how much I loved hearing your voice.” 

“Do I look frightened?” She asked, surprised by the iron lacing her voice. He sneered, his palm filling with flames, then he struck. She threw up a barrier to absorb the fire’s heat, then raced forward, her blade clattering against his staff. 

He tried to cut her with the blade of the staff, then sent a blast that threw her back, but she kept her feet, dancing out of his way. She sent ice spiraling around his feet, but he stepped through the fade, away from her. Another huge blast of energy, this one dodged completely. Well, she thought, she could keep this up. She was using far less mana than he. 

Corix clenched his fist and Varania felt the sick pull of blood magic just before Fenris screamed, hoarse, and power flew from her brother’s body to the Magister, replenishing, refreshing. Another fireball sent her way, another barrier thrown up just in time. There would be no defensive winning strategy, only a fatal blow. 

She race forward, managing to catching his thigh as she went low. He shouted, spinning, searing her with a bolt of lighting she didn’t deflect quickly enough with her blade. She swore, other hand going automatically to her abdomen and wincing.

He raised his staff, blood magic swirling around him. From the bloody pieces of ice around her feet shades rose. Curling, roiling purple smoke revealed the scaled and nude form of a desire demon. “Do you think your little  girl will miss her mama, Varania?” He asked, voice soft as silk. More shades rose and Varania took a step backwards, eyes wide. “You could have run. You were only bait, she was only bait.” 

She would never see Sabina again. 

Hawke was finally up, her staff recovered from the ground. Useless as it was as she used it to beat a shade away from her with a snarl. 

Something sparked. Blue light flickering from the tunnel behind the Magister. And Varania recognized it just before the man turned the corner and strode into view, unhurried, but haggard looking. Robes hung limply on his frame, his once blonde hair streaked with silver. But his eyes glowed with blue energy that she could taste on her tongue. Electric, like the fade. The man pounded his staff down, and his voice echoed. 

“Maleficar need to be punished.” He rumbled. Cracks of blue light spread, Varania sidestepped one as tendrils of the blue light reached up, gripping the shades, the demon. 

“Leave! This does not concern you!” Corix shouted, temporarily distracted. 

It was all she needed as she slipped to his side, her blade slipping past the Magister’s ribs, into his heart. She shove farther, until the blade passed through the other side. The man looked down, disbelieving, then turned to meet Varania’s eyes before he keeled forward, her blade withdrawing as smoothly as butter, blood dripping to the floor as the demons went up in smoke, dissolving in the blue tendrils of the abomination standing in the entrance to the tunnel. 

“Well done, mortal.” The man said, nodding in approval as he moved further into the space. “But there is still justice to be done here.” 

“Stop.” Varania said, holding out her hand. “Or I will…” 

“You have no strength left in you.” He said as he moved slowly towards her, steps deliberate, eyes narrowed on Fenris. “And even if you did, my power is greater.” 

“No!” Hawke’s voice was shrill, staff still in one hand as she raced forward, grabbing the mage’s arm with all the force she could. “Anders! Stop!” 

The effect was immediate, the man freezing, staring down at the pale fingers clenching his robes. He looked up, eyes flickering with the bright blue light, almost running to something honey colored. Almost. 

“You are injured.” It observed. “I will heal you in a moment.” 

“No!” Hawke yelled again, tugging the creatures arm. “Anders, this is  _ enough _ ! I won’t let you touch him!” 

Yes, the eyes definitely flickered as the creature stared at Hawke. Then, there was nothing glowing blue and a man staggered, held in place only by Hawke’s arm. “Hawke…” He whispered, his hand grasping hers. “Hawke!” 

Whatever she expected to happen, it was not this. The man pushed the palm of his hand against his forehead, nearly doubling over. Hawke let go, stepping back towards Fenris. “Get Lucia.” She whispered to Varania. 

“You should have killed me.” He muttered. “Should have…” 

“Anders, what’s happened?” Hawke asked as Varania knelt beside the dog, using her magic to heal broken ribs until the dog whimpered and sat up, slapping a drooling kiss onto Varania’s cheek. Anders screamed, blue light lunging from his fist as he slammed it into the ground hard enough for Varania to feel the shuddering. 

“Get out!” Anders roared, throwing his hand at the ledge and creating what could only be described as some sort of ramp. “Before he comes back, you have to…” 

“We could kill him, it seems it would be a mercy.” Varania offered. Anders shook his head. 

“Barely hold him back. He’ll defend himself and you can’t… Hawke…” He whimpered. Hawke’s face was nearly blank with shock and surprise and something that looked like pity. Anders shoved his fist into the ground again and the ceiling rumbled. “He gets stronger every day and I’m here less and less.” 

“He’ll bring the tunnel down, we have to move.” Varania whispered harshly. “Unless you prefer to die here?” 

“Oh Anders…” Hawke whispered sadly, turning her back to him and slinging one of Fenris’s arms over her shoulder. Varania took the other and they both lifted him. Lucia ran ahead as they struggled with the weight, pulling Fenris forwards and up. Ten minutes after, when the blue light had finally faded behind them, they heard a shudder, a noise of rocks and walls collapsing. 

“Perhaps he is dead. I find I’d prefer that.” Varania observed. 

“He saved us.” Hawke responded, stopping and pressing a hand to her abdomen. 

“Corix would never have been after Sabina and I, and by extension you, without his interference.” Varania snapped. 

“Regardless.” Hawke wrinkled her nose. “I don’t think that would kill him. I think it would take something much more.” 


	49. Unspoken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric leaves the Inquisition and the Inquisitor to search for Hawke and Fenris, but is joined by unlikely companions.

Hawke needed a better way to leave cities than with it in flames behind her. Oh, the author in him ate it up. It’d be an amazing sequel to the Tale of the Champion, if he ever saw Hawke again to get the real story. Someday, she was going to stretch her string of good luck just a bit too far. 

Two letters, the first the one that had them running from the tavern in Redcliffe with Solas still rubbing sleep from his eyes. That first one from Nightingale’s agent claiming that Broody and Hawke had an “altercation” with two dozen mercenaries and had reunited with the sister he’d nearly killed in the Hanged Man. The sister he’d nearly killed and a niece he hadn’t known about. And the ensuing rumors of Broody returning to Minrathous, a bonafide folk hero on par with Hawke herself, had set the whole city up in a riot that would most likely last weeks. The plan had been to flee. 

The second letter was in Maria’s hand as soon as she opened the doors to the war room when they returned to Skyhold. Varric read it over Maria’s shoulder and felt his heart lurch. From Nightingale’s agent, who was hiding a few miles outside the city with the child, but without Hawke, Fenris, their dog, or Varania. She had written she planned to stay at least twenty-four hours in her bolt hole with the girl, but eventually would have to make a decision for the safety of the child, sprint south for Nevarra and the Inquisition soldiers stationed there most likely. 

That would leave Hawke and Fenris abandoned in a tunnel under Minrathous. Abandoned, captured, dead… Maker only knew. Varric sighed, rubbed the back of his hands across his eyes and closed them. He could see Hawke and Fenris like ghosts imprinted on the back of his eyelids. 

“We’d know if they were caught, wouldn’t we? Tamar could get word.” Maria said, handing the note back to Cullen. 

“Tamar would certainly attempt to do, Inquisitor. We cannot guarantee we would receive her response in the chaos.” Josephine tapped her quill thoughtfully against her board. 

“Regardless of whether or not they are caught, it is irresponsible to assume your agent came make it across most of Tevinter alone with a child.” Cullen pointed out, leaning over the table.

“Ivy could do it, although whether she should is debatable. The child is powerful leverage in Tevinter. The niece of a Magister killer? The Archon would pay dearly for her to disappear.” Leliana mused. 

“I sincerely hope we’re we're not advocating handing a child on a silver platter back to the same people her family…” Maria bit the word back, the fates of Hawke and Fenris lingering in the air. Varric winced anyway and she shot him an apologetic look.

“The leverage should not be discounted, even if it is distasteful.” Leliana continued quietly. “We could also use her presence in Tevinter as a rallying point to destabilize…” 

“No.” Maria cut her off. “I refuse to use anyone under the age of sixteen as a political bargaining chip and if you bring it up again I'm going to start throwing things at you.” 

“I agree. I believe the Archon has more important concerns in the capital. Tamar can claim Hawke and Fenris as agents of the Inquisition and apply pressure to learn their fates. If they have been captured,  she can demand their release. The Archon will need our support along the Nevarran border even more now with the chaos and unrest within Minrathous.” Josephine smoothly gestured to the map. “And now is the time for our agent to make a dash for the border.”

“It’s madness. If Serah Hawke and her husband yet live, Inquisition soldiers may be able to recover them and the child.” Cullen persisted, jabbing a finger at the map. 

“And what excuse will we give for our incursion into Tevinter borders?” Josephine sputtered. “The offense will ruin any working accord we may reach.”

“Is it possible this sister has already betrayed them back to Tevinter?” Leliana asked, crossing her arms over her chest. “She did betray her brother once, no?” 

“I've met women hard as diamonds, Leliana. The Carta is full of them, but I've yet to see someone abandon their own little girl to arrange a double cross.” Maria's brow furrowed as she traced the border between Tevinter and Nevarra. “Can we afford to antagonize Tevinter? Is our position strong?” 

“The Black Divine has already declared you a heretic, but it matters little here in Southern Thedas. The more pressing concern would be the continued operation of Venatori agents unchecked across the border. If we want to weaken Corypheus we must eliminate all lines of support.” Cullen scratched his neck. 

“Maria, you can't risk it.” The use of her first name, here, drew everyone to a sudden stop. Maria kept her back to him, but Josephine, Cullen, and Leliana followed his movement with bright eyes. He placed one hand across Maria's lower back, felt her warmth through his palm. “Stopping Corypheus is more important than storming Tevinter to find Hawke. She’d say so herself.”

“She helped us and I can't just abandon…” Maria began, picking up one of the markers. 

“She helped, then left on her own mission. She wasn't working for you, and you've done more than enough to assist her. The integrity of the Inquisition could be at risk. Our mission is to save Thedas from Corypheus.” Leliana cut in, moving another marker across the map. “We cannot jeopardize our mission for the lives of a few. No matter what our heart says.” 

“Is this the kind of advice you offered up during the blight?” Maria asked bitterly, lifting her eyes to glare at Leliana. 

“No. I was younger then. I believed the right thing was clear. Now I see it is not always.” Leliana's tone was cool, but underneath Varric could hear danger, a cold line of steel. 

“So what do you suggest, little miss sunshine?” Maria asked, straightening and rubbing her temples with her hand. The beginning of another headache. “Maybe we can assassinate…”

“I'll go.” Varric whispered. “Alone. No Inquisition support. Just an old friend of Hawke's.” 

The silence that fell over the room was oppressive. Nobody could look at him or Maria, which left Josephine staring at her papers, Cullen grimacing at the map, and Leliana suddenly very distracted by what was out the window. Maria turned to face him slowly, her expression carefully blank. “Hawke wouldn't want you to risk your Inquisition, and neither would I.” Varric watched as her grey eyes grew stormier. “I can slip in and out of Tevinter. Find Hawke and Fenris if they're alive, sodding Varania too. And nobody can trace it back to your people. I'll come back when I find them.”

“Let me help you, you blighted, stubborn…” Maria began. 

“Don't you have enough problems, Princess?”  Varric waved his arm across the room, the map littered with markers and papers. The weight of the world on Maria Cadash’s slim shoulders because she had the poor luck to stumble onto a magic-assisted assassination. 

Or, if you believed, because the Maker had put her there. Either or. 

“Perhaps this is a discussion of a personal nature. We should...umm…” Cullen shot a somewhat longing glance at the door. Maria’s eyes narrowed and she held out a hand to stop him from moving. Varric hadn’t found himself on the wrong side of that glare in weeks and could very well have gone several more months without it. 

“I don’t want the Inquisitor’s help, Maria. Not for this.” Not at the cost you could pay, he finished internally. Maria released a long sigh, bowing her head. 

“Tell the troops at the border to expect them, Cullen. If they can get to Nevarra, they’re safe. I’m assuming Tevinter can’t complain about the shit I do outside the borders, can they?” She asked Josephine tartly, drumming her fingers on the table. “Leliana, let Ivy know that if there’s no sign of the Hawkes, she’s to get that little girl to the border as quietly as she can. We’ll bring her here.” 

“And Tamar?” Josephine asked, quill poised above her paper. 

“Tell her to keep an eye and ear out, but that’s all. For now.” Maria declared, turning imperiously to Varric. “Happy?” 

“Of course I’m not.” Varric shrugged. “I could have happily lived my entire life without dragging Broody and Hawke from the ass end of Tevinter. Do you have any idea how hot it gets there?” 

 

Varric left Maria in the war room and began making preparations. Business contacts to defer, letters to ignore or finally reply to. His own pack to stuff full of anything and everything he thought he may need on a trip to Tevinter. Fucking Tevinter. 

And he was leaving Maria. Suddenly, that felt like the hardest part. Her scent was on his pillow, a blouse of hers slung over the back of his chair. A part of him, a horribly selfish part, wanted to go back and beg her to come with him. But the Inquisitor couldn’t disappear into Thedas without a trace, not like Hawke and the Hero of Ferelden.

“When will you leave?” She asked from the doorway as he scribbled instructions at his desk. She leaned against the wall, eyes cast down at the floor. He hadn’t heard her, but that wasn’t surprising. 

“As soon as I can, reasonably. I’d prefer to get started this evening. I’ll take a ship across the Waking Sea into Nevarra, make a beeline for Tevinter. With any luck, Hawke and Broody will be on their way.” Varric explained, folding a letter. “I don’t suppose you’d consent to handle some Guild stuff in my name while I’m gone, would you?” 

“You’re asking me to handle your money when I’m furious at you?” Maria asked, grinning ruefully. “You’re a foolish man, Tethras.” 

“You’re not furious. If you were, I’d be dodging arrows on the other side of the room.” He joked weakly. 

“You’re right. I’m worried sick you’re going to leave and get your fine ass murdered in Tevinter and then…” She trailed off, wrapping her arms more tightly around herself. “Maker’s ass. What is the point of having an army if I can’t help you?” 

“The army is for the crazy darkspawn, you know that.” Varric reminded her, but he couldn’t stop the gentleness from coating his voice. “Maria, I’ll be back. I’m more worried that you’re going to get into some crazy shit while I’m gone. A possessed dragon or talking nugs.”

“You’ll just have to let me write that part of the story when you get around to it.” She teased half-heartedly. “I’ve got some rift cleanup to do in the Hinterlands. Bull is trying to talk up a Qunari alliance…” 

“I’d advise against that. Strongly.” Varric chuckled. 

“Darkspawn on the coast.” She continued, talking over him. “And then Leliana and Josephine are trying to get me invited to this damn ball in a month to stop Celene getting herself killed. Although judging by the tailors Vivienne brought from Orlais, it’s entirely more likely I throw myself from the roof first.” 

“I’d also not recommend that.” Varric said, doing the last buckle on his pack. “Andraste’s tits, Maria. Can you just try not to do anything crazy?” 

“You know I can’t promise that.” She said softly. “But I’ll try. And tell Hawke she owes me something pretty, shiny, or expensive for borrowing you.” 

“Assuming I can find her.” Varric frowned down at his empty hands. He didn’t hear Maria approaching, but he felt her warm arms circle around his chest. 

“You will.” She mumbled into his shoulder. “I can’t imagine Hawke dying in Tevinter. Her Ferelden blood simply wouldn’t allow it.” 

Varric couldn’t help himself, he laughed and leaned back against her. “I’ll be back to accompany you to that fancy Orlesian ball. I promise.” 

“You better.” She whispered, and Varric ignored the searing wet tears that fell on his shoulder. “Or I’ll have some choice words for you.” 

 

The next morning, Varric went to the stables. He was bewildered to find his pony already out of the stalls, but more bewildered to see Dorian yawning and fitting a saddle over his own mount. “Finally! I thought I was going to perish of boredom waiting for you. Let’s get this adventure started, yes?” 

“Sparkler, what in the void are you doing?” Varric asked, taking in the packs slung over the horse. 

“Accompanying you, of course!” Dorian’s eyes widened, innocently. “I can’t in good conscience allow all that chest hair to wander into Tevinter unescorted. Think of the virgins and proper ladies!” 

Blackwall snorted from the corner as he whittled. “Are we to imagine all the virgins populating Tevinter?” 

“Yes, as you imagine soap when you bathe.” Dorian snipped back haughtily. A noise that was both exhausted and exasperated came from behind him and Cassandra pushed past with her own pack. 

“Dorian believed his expertise could be of assistance if we were required to venture into Tevinter.” Cassandra said, making a beeline to her own mount. “I know little of the culture beyond the stories, which he has spent much of the last months assuring us are quite inadequate.” 

“Wait.” Varric said, dropping his pack. “You can’t tell me you’re going too?” 

Cassandra sighed. “I have asked the Inquisitor for leave of absence to accompany you. She has granted it. My sword arm may be of use in making our way across Nevarra. Besides, I cannot help but feel I owe the Champion some recompense for…” 

“Attempting to hunt her down? Kidnapping her favorite dwarf?” Varric supplied helpfully. 

“I believe I may have provided her a vacation from her favorite dwarf.” Cassandra sniffed. “Regardless, I would not see you murdered in a ditch.” 

“Seeker! I’ve grown on you.” Varric teased, a smile breaking over his lips unbidden. 

“Like a fungus.” She retorted. 

A flash of red hair caught his attention and he turned his face to see Maria slipping into the stables from the other direction, Cole trailing after her. Varric raised his eyebrow and gestured to Dorian and Cassandra. “Was this your doing?” 

“It wasn’t my idea, but I’m certainly not going to stop them.” Maria admitted, tucking her hair behind her ear briskly. “Do you have everything you need?” 

“Bianca and I are ready to go, Princess. Don’t worry. As soon as they see we’re bringing Sparkler back, they’ll give us whatever we want to get rid of us.” Varric soothed. 

“I resent the implication.” Dorian fingered his mustache thoughtfully. “Although as a negotiation tactic, I’ve heard worse.” 

“I sent word to Bea.” Maria said quickly. “If you need something, Nanna has a presence in Nevarra. I’m hoping… well, maybe your friend Isabela can meet you at port.”

“Tracking down Isabela is almost always a lost cause.” Varric warned. Maria smirked. 

“Beatrix has never been one to lose track of where she can bed down. If anyone knows where the Siren’s Revenge is docked at any given time, it would be her.” 

“Maria, I don’t want the Inquisition…” Varric began. 

“I know, I know.” She shrugged helplessly and jabbed her chin at Cassandra and Dorian. “These two have temporarily quit, which was a thing I didn’t even know you could do.” 

“That’s because you can’t.” Varric said seriously. 

“But you didn’t say the Cadash clan couldn’t help you. They’re already criminals, at least let my relatives be somewhat helpful.” Maria pleaded, pressing something into his hand. “If you show them this, they’ll know who you are.” 

He didn’t have to look to see what she’d pushed into his leather glove, he knew the shape of the Cadash crest she wore well. She tucked it often underneath her blouses, but he’d seen it dangling between her breasts at night. He’d given it back to her when she’d woken up at Haven. He closed his fingers over the necklace and nodded. “Right. Trust the Carta princess to find a loophole.” 

“We should make haste. I would prefer to make it to port before those clouds break.” Cassandra glared suspiciously at the sky then led her horse past them. Dorian threw an exagerated wink over his shoulder. Maria turned her steely gaze to Blackwall and made an impatient gesture with her fingers that clearly said get out. 

“I sleep here!” Blackwall protested, standing from his chair. 

“Well, that isn’t my fault. I’ve tried to give you a real room as many times as I’ve tried to patch Cullen’s roof. You two are just insane.” Maria argued, jabbing her finger outside. With some muttered cursing, Blackwall exited, grabbing Cole by the elbow as he did. 

“If I don’t come back and you need to move on, I’d prefer it was anyone but him, for the record.” Varric shot his own scowl at the man’s retreating figure. 

“Oh shut up.” Maria said, wrapping her arms around his neck. “I don’t move on well, remember? So you better come back or… or I’ll…” 

She opened and closed her mouth a few times, then shut it with an audible click before leaning forward to capture his lips in a kiss that scorched and bruised. There was a thread of desperation running through it and a thin gold thread of something else, something too pure and beautiful to look directly at. She pushed away from him with effort, brushing the back of her hand furiously across her eyes. “I’ll see you soon, right?” 

“Right.” He answered, although he wanted to say so much more. She nodded and turned, a visible tremor going through her as she fled the stables. 

Shaken, Varric turned back to his pony and adjusted his own bags slowly, waiting for his racing heart to settle in his chest. Cole’s quick, light steps hurried behind him.

“I don’t understand. She wants to say it, feels it on the tip of her tongue. Bright, bursting. But she doesn’t say it because it isn’t  the right time. And it feels heavy, too much, too big, in your mouth, but you always want to say it. You both hurt and I…” Cole stopped, forlorn. 

“I know kid. We’ll fix it when I get back. Keep an eye on her for me?” He asked, patting the boy’s shoulder. 

“I will.” Cole nodded, determined. “I will bring her favorite foods and make her laugh, light and free, falling and waiting. Come home soon?” 

“I will.” Varric promised, leading the pony out into the courtyard. Skyhold was bustling, going about their day. Blackwall, muttering, pushed past him and back into the stable. Dorian and Cassandra were waiting at the gate, but Varric couldn’t help but look around, searching for a flash of red in the crowd. There was none. 

“Look up when we cross the bridge.” Dorian advised sagely as they mounted. The horse’s hooves seemed unnaturally loud as they crossed, but Varric took the mage’s advice and looked behind him and up. He was not disappointed by the small, bright figure on top of the portcullis. He raised a hand and she did as well. Varric continued to glance back as they passed the bridge, began to descend down the mountain path. 

The Inquisitor didn’t move from her perch, even as she vanished from view. 

“If you start brooding, I’m leaving.” Dorian said smartly. “All this romantic tension simmering is going to cause my mustache to droop.” 

“Afraid it is taking all the attention from you, Dorian?” Cassandra asked. 

“It is a shame, I’m so much more credible as the romantic lead. Shame the Inquisitor isn’t a strapping man.” Dorian mused, grinning. “I’d have really given Varric something to write about.” 

“Please don’t tell me this journey is going to be as impossible as the first journey across the waking sea. I don’t think my brain can handle it.” Varric pleaded. 

“At least Cullen isn’t here to throw up everywhere.” Cassandra pointed out with a small smirk. “And the weather should be more pleasant.” 

“Will we have time to see a necropolis, Seeker? I’ve always wanted to.” Dorian asked, almost childish with excitement. 

“Absolutely not.” Cassandra shook her head. 

“It has been a childhood fantasy.” Dorian pleaded. 

While they bickered, Varric thought about Maria Cadash pressed up against him, her desperate kiss, and slowly ran a gloved thumb up and down the Cadash crest.


	50. Unexpected Surprises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris wakes up and confronts Hawke.

_ He was somewhere round. A tower, perhaps? The stone walls curved gracefully around and doors lined the side. He could hear shushed laughter as he walked, saw robed forms walking around him. A woman with white hair knelt next to a crying child, whispering encouragingly. A templar that looked familiar entered one room. Fenris followed, but did not recognize him until light from window caught his face. Cullen?  _

_ “Apprentice Amell.” He called, his voice cracking on the girl’s name. He coughed, then called again. “Amell.”  _

_ “I’m here.” A girl whispered from one of the tables, surrounded by books. She was tucking long dark hair behind her ear as she stood. An almost perfect replica of Hawke except so much younger looking than Fenris had ever seen Hawke. She looked more a child than a woman, her doe eyes soft on Cullen and Cullen swallowed, hard, looking everywhere but into the girl’s face.  _

_ “It is… I’ve been sent to fetch you by the Knight Commander and the First Enchanter.” Cullen said.  _

_ “Oh...I… oh.” The girl stuttered, looking behind her towards the sun shining through the windows, the other robed figured all listening intently, but none turning to look. He thought she may cry, but only for a moment before she gathered herself and Fenris could see the iron behind her spine. “Right. It’s time.”  _

_ “You’ll do well.” Cullen rushed out. “Of course you will.”  _

_ Fenris nearly snorted in amusement. He’d never seen the man look like a daft puppy, but now that he had, he was fairly certain he would not forget it. Chantal Amell slowly but steadily closed her book, taking a deep breath. “I’m ready.”  _

_ In one corner, a man with dark hair and an impressive beard stared out after the woman thoughtfully. He was wearing Warden armor, but in the other corner... _

_ “Bets on whether or not she comes back.” Anders drawled in a whisper designed to carry, leaning precariously back in his chair. “Irving’s pet, isn’t she? Quiet as a chantry mouse.”  _

_ “Don’t be cruel.” A woman said, even as she smirked into her cards.  _

_ “My dear!” The older woman with white hair had rushed in, folding the childlike girl into her arms and kissing her cheek. “I’ll walk with you, unless you wished to have the sole honor, Ser Rutherford?”  _

_ “I...ah, no. You are most welcome.” Cullen gave a small incline of a bow as both women emerged into a hallway and the group near Anders burst into snickers. The old woman tossed a pointed glance in their direction before she exited. Fenris attempted to follow, but he’d only made two steps before the entire room darkened, as if the sun had been switched off. A cold, dank breeze floated in from cracked windows. Papers scattered over the floor, some ripped, some charred.  _

_ “I always thought they were rather similar. Hawke is certainly louder, but growing up in the circle would muffle a person.” The voice came from the corner, less arrogant, more weary. When Fenris turned, he saw Anders sitting in the same spot, staring listlessly at the floor.  _

_ “I don’t recall it ever muffling you, mage.” Fenris growled. Anders almost smiled, looking up.  _

_ “I’m sorry.” He whispered. “So very sorry, for everything that’s happened. For everything that will.”  _

_ “Stay away from us.” Fenris took several strides to the mage, lifted him by his robes and shoved him against the empty, decaying bookshelves.  _

_ “Fenris…” Anders coughed, choking as he was hoisted. Without further warning, Fenris plunged his arm into the mage’s chest, reached for his heart and felt… _

_ “I am not of mortal men.” Anders said weakly as Fenris’s fingers closed around nothing.  _

 

“I hate to break it to you, but your bedside manner could be improved by leaps and bounds.” 

“Kaffas, quit whining. The more you squirm the longer this will take.” 

A dog whined and someone let out a deep sigh of resignation. Fenris could not quite find the strength to open his eyes, but he could feel his head resting on something (someone?) soft and warm, elegant fingers stroking his hair. It felt...nice. 

“That was some impressive swording.”  _ Hawke _ , he thought, relieved. Whole, or at least whole enough to complain and whine. 

“Swording?” The second voice questioned, torn between confusion and vague irritation. “Is that what they call it in the Free Marches? Barbarians.” 

“Very impressive. How did a tailor and a mage learn that?” Hawke asked blithely. 

“How did a southern mage with such a big mouth remain free of the circle?” The other woman asked. There was something familiar about that voice too, something half forgotten. 

“I’m very good at hiding.” Hawke answered disingenuously. The other woman scoffed audibly and Hawke amended her statement. “My mother and father were very good at hiding.”  

He heard a thread snap. “There. At least you won’t leave a blood trail any longer. Are you feeling any better?”

“Is that concern, Varania? I’m touched.”  _ Varania.  _ And images were coming back, disjointed, painful. Agony through his skin, the lyrium scars burning into his muscles and Hawke’s tear filled eyes, her head wrenched back by her braid and he helpless to stop it. 

“He’s too heavy to carry myself.” Varania answered. He could hear her moving. He needed to open his eyes, needed to see. He forced his muscles to work, felt his fingers twitch. More pictures came, unbidden. A gauntlet smashing into Hawke’s face, her lip bleeding. Ice climbing up the legs of the guards, snapping them in half easily. And a woman tumbling from the ledge, a blade glowing like magic in her hands.

“Right.” Hawke sighed, brushing her fingers lightly over his forehead. “And you’re sure nothing’s wrong with… with it?” 

With it? He didn’t hear Varania’s response, was too focused on the harsh words ringing around his head in a voice that didn’t match the insane cruelty in his eyes. 

_ Tell me, Champion, does that baby inside you belong to this wild dog?  _

Finally, he found the strength to open his eyes, to stare up at Hawke’s long neck, her head tilted upwards toward Varania who was out of sight. His head was resting on her thighs as she sat. His hand flashed out, grabbing hers tightly, only barely aware that he was probably leaving bruises on her delicate Ferelden skin. “Fenris!” She exclaimed, delighted, turning her blue eyes to him. “Thank the Maker, I was…” 

“Pregnant.” He interrupted. “You’re  _ pregnant _ .” 

The tunnel they were in was suddenly much quieter. Varania coughed and he let his eyes flick to her quickly, before turning back to Hawke. His wife. His  _ pregnant _ wife. “I will scout ahead.” Varania declared, to no one in particular, or perhaps the tunnel. 

“Wait, you can’t. I still have barely any mana.” Hawke protested uneasily, her eyes pleadingly staring after Varania. 

“If someone comes from behind you, be as loud as I know you are capable of being. Specify that you are in danger so I know it is not a continuation of this quarrel.” Varania offered over her shoulder, already halfway gone. Fenris let his grip slide to Hawke’s wrist. 

“Reyna.” He growled. “You cannot be pregnant. You said…” 

“I know what I said!” She exploded, yanking her wrist from his grip. Fenris sat up, perhaps too quickly. The tunnel spun in place, but he ignored it in favor of Hawke’s blue eyes, an anchor in the darkness. Next to him, Lucia whined and cocked her head to the side. “I was wrong. Apparently.” 

“But the Arishok’s sword, the…” He gestured uselessly at her abdomen. Hawke crossed her arms defensively across her naked stomach. Her lip was still swollen from the gauntlet, a rather nasty scrape up the side of her face. Her blouse was laying next to her, the shoulder covered in red. The dagger, the one that had been covered in magebane. He stopped, staring at it. “You’re injured. You’re pregnant and injured.” 

“Varania assures me I’ll survive both conditions.” Hawke answered wryly. “She just stitched up the dagger wound. She tried to heal it, but all the magebane is concentrated around it and her magic just isn’t taking. I didn’t want her to waste any additional mana since I’ve got barely enough to light a candle and you’ve been…” Hawke frowned, staring darkly over her shoulder. “That bastard took everything right out of you.” 

“That bastard almost took you.” Fenris reminded her, reaching for her upper arm and twining his fingers around you. “What would you have done, Hawke?” He demanded. “What were you thinking? How long have you known about this?” 

“Not nearly as long as you think.” Hawke challenged, huffing out her breath. “I wasn’t thinking I could be pregnant. I only realized a few days ago.” 

“And you should have told me. We should have left Minrathous then, you fool woman!” Fenris roared, pushing himself away from her and standing, pacing away from her. He felt like a caged animal. 

“And leave your sister and her daughter to their fates?” Hawke asked bitterly. “I think not. I knew you would do this, that’s why…” 

“You lied to me.” Fenris accused. “Fasta vass, Reyna. You lied to me!” The words felt like poison in his mouth, like a wound in his heart. Hawke was silent, eyes cast to the floor of the cave, scratching helplessly at the dirt with her nail. In his fury he lashed out, driving his aching fist into the wall of the tunnel. Hawke winced. The pain felt good, a focus to take the edge off the whirlwind of disjointed thoughts. Hawke helpless, bleeding, as a twisted man stroked her cheek like a lover. Hawke, careless, foolish Hawke throwing fire in an alley. A child with blue eyes and black hair that called him papa. An impossible child, made of dreams and wishes. 

“You cannot be with child.” He growled. “It is impossible.” 

“I know this isn’t what you signed up for.” She began, tone as light as she could make it. Hiding all the hurt under humor. “I was going to tell you, Fenris, as soon as we left the city. And… I don’t know. We’ll figure it out. It’s early yet, if you don’t want it we’ll…” 

“Don’t want it?” He repeated, stunned. He blinked once, twice, but Hawke didn’t move. She didn’t look up. 

“There are ways to rid oneself of an unwanted child. If we can't stomach that, I suppose we can give it away once its born.” Her voice was devoid now of any trace of humor or lightness. “That's if I don't get it killed before then. As you have so aptly pointed out, I'm not exactly mother material. The stubborn thing has managed to hang on so far, but I'm sure…”

“Stop.” He couldn't bear for her to continue, and she still did not look up. He felt himself deflate, sinking into a crouch beside her. His anger was fading into tatters. “You're with child? Truly? You’re certain?” 

“Yes.” Hawke answered with a voice as brittle as frost. “I realized after that night in the fade, with Anders. He could see it, and when I looked...I could too. A light that isn’t mine, but is a part of me. Varania confirmed it too, and I’d hope she knows what she’s doing. She said my parts were...damaged by the Arishok, but not thoroughly broken. It just made conceiving take longer than it would otherwise.” 

“And you told her last night?” Fenris asked darkly. Hawke laughed. 

“Of course I didn’t.” She continued to scratch a symbol thoughtlessly into the dirt. “But she’s been pregnant and she’s a mage. I think she knew before I even leaped out her bedroom window.” 

Fenris growled, but this made Hawke look up with a rather skeptical expression. “You can be mad at me, but you’re not allowed to be angry with her. Not after what she just did for us.” 

An image flashed in his mind, a glowing sword. He looked over his shoulder into the darkness of the tunnel where Varania had vanished. For the first time, he noticed the small will-o-wisp of light hanging above their heads like a star plucked from the sky. Not Hawke’s magic, but not unfamiliar. It didn’t prickle his aching scars, in fact, the magic was so subtle and quiet he could barely feel it’s hum at all. “She came back.” He stated. “Where is Sabina?” 

“With Ivy.” Hawke answered. “Your sister is desperate to get back to them.” 

As he would be if he had a child. A child growing within Hawke. “How long… the child, when will it be born?” He asked, reaching out to take Hawke’s chin between his fingers, careful of the gauntlets he wore on her delicate skin.

“About seven months? Give or take a week or so. We… we conceived right after Adamant, I think. In that damn swamp, most likely.” Hawke’s eyes finally met his and there was a shine of wet tears in them. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for letting this happen, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.” 

“I am going to be a father.” His voice was soft and even he could hear the longing laced within his tone. Whatever Hawke expected, it was not this. She looked shocked, one silver tear falling in surprise down her cheek. He brushed it absently with his thumb. 

“Fenris, a baby. We can’t… my entire family is dead or dying. A small, helpless…” Hawke gave up, eyes wide in a plea to make him understand. “We are stuck in a tunnel under Minrathous. We just escaped a magister who almost certainly was going to use your sister and niece to lure you back. Anders…” 

“Anders?” Fenris said, bewildered. 

“Yes, Anders, just collapsed a tunnel on himself because he was fighting Justice for control after saving us. You wouldn’t remember that because you were unconscious after the Magister kept pulling magic out of these damn markings which is the second time in the last six months I thought I was going to lose you, if you’re keeping track.” Hawke added sourly, lips puckering as she glared at the lines on his throat. “You know, I used to think they were just pretty.” 

“I’ve told you for a long time they were not. You are simply too stubborn to listen to sense.” Fenris commented, allowing his fingers to trace up the scrape on Hawke’s face. “Do you know what would have happened to the child if the Magister had taken you, Reyna.” 

“I’ve a fair idea.” She shuddered under his fingers in revulsion. Fenris sighed and leaned his forehead against hers. Her skin seared against the markings, but he was glad of the pain. It cleared things. 

“Tell me everything that happened, Reyna. From the moment you admitted you were carrying my child. That is the last thing I remember clearly.” He demanded. And she took a deep breath, and did. 

She had finished only seconds before he heard Varania’s quiet footsteps began to approach. Hawke looked up at him, conflicting emotions warring on her face. Guilt, fear, worry, and a beguiling shimmer of hope that felt like gold. And all that had happened, Varania’s daring rescue, their near-escape from the abomination, it all paled to one thing, repeated on a loop in his head. He would be a father, he would be a father, he would be… 

“I only have one question.” He said quietly, whispering the words against her temple. “Do you want this child of mine? Knowing all that has happened because of my past, is it worth it to you?”

She nodded, speechless for one of the only times he had ever known her to be. Her throat bobbed as she swallowed, then the word barely a whisper against him.  _ Yes.  _ He pressed his searing kiss against her temple. It was decided, then. 

“I will keep you safe, I swear. Both of you.” He whispered in return, a promise the caused his hand to move on its own, to press against her abdomen and the soft round curve of her stomach. “I promise you, Reyna.” 

“I cannot see the end, but I believe I can feel a draft.” Varania announced, at once awkward and decisive. “We should keep moving.” She didn’t meet their eyes, instead fiddling with her sleeve before kneeling and grabbing their bags. 

“Can you walk?” Hawke asked. Fenris nodded, standing and offering her his hand, pulling her to her feet. Before she walked away, he allowed himself to trace the wound in her shoulder. Neat stitches sealed it shut and it had been cleaned and tended to as nicely as it could be. Hawke retrieved her blouse and shrugged it on, strapping her bags around a waist and then picking up his, making to sling them over her shoulder. 

“I will carry those.” He said impatiently, snatching them from her hands. “Are yours too heavy? Should you be carrying them?” 

“I just carried half of your weight several miles, I’ll think I’ll be fine.” Hawke’s lips twitched in barely concealed amusement and her eyes flicked over his shoulder. He turned just in time to see Varania hurriedly looking away, her own lips curved up in a small smile. 

“I am grateful for your assistance.” He began, too halting, too formal, but unable to grasp onto any other words. “You did not have to return, but I appreciate…” 

“I did.” She interrupted, turning quickly away from him and the light from the ceiling began to bob over them, moving slowly to Varania and then beyond her. “I would like to continue.” 

Fenris looked hopeless at Hawke who shrugged with an ease and informality he envied. She gestured with her hand for him to continue after her. And he fell in beside Hawke as Varania’s light filled the tunnel with strange shadows, twisted and reaching. He felt as if he should say something else, anything else, but there was a thought, dancing just out of reach, a memory hiding in the shadows of the Magister’s face, voice. Too painful to look at directly, but an ache he couldn’t stop probing as he stared at the straight line of Varania’s back. “Why did you return?” He finally asked. Varania did not stop or pause, she did not look over her shoulder at him. She continued on, in silence at first, before the words left her mouth.

“My brother would not have left me.” 

 

Eventually, it became clear that there was a draft. Fenris could smell fresh air, a relief in the closed and claustrophobic tunnels that reminded him so much of the Deep Roads and Carver dying in his sister’s arms. Deepstalkers, lone and easily frightened by the light, scattered from their path as the tunnel gradually began to slope upwards until finally they came to a ladder, a trap door above them. They paused, anxious and listening for any sound before Fenris stepped forward and grasped the ladder, hauling his aching body up it and pushing gently against the door. It opened enough for him to look out at a dirty floor, old barrels in his line of vision, the smell of cows strong. There was no sign of a person and he opened it a bit further, swinging out, anticipating an attack that didn’t come. He stood, examining his surroundings. A root cellar he had to stoop to stand in, long unused, and yet the floor was suspiciously clean. There should have been dusty, but there was none at all. Ivy, he thought, would have cleaned up her traces as best she could to not leave a trail. “Fenris?” Hawke called quietly from below him. 

“A moment.” He called back, edging to the stairs leading up. He took them slowly, letting his head rise above the barn floors. This was more often used, he could hear the sound of the cows, shuffling in their pens. Dusk was falling quickly, shadows lengthening through the open doors. He paused, straining his ears to catch voices. 

He hard nothing except the creak of the steps below him. He spun and glared at Hawke’s small form. “Venhedis, can you not wait?” He asked. She smiled, almost apologetically as Varania glided serenely behind her up the steps. There was a heaviness in Varania’s features, a disappointment. She sighed as she looked around, wrapping her cloak a bit tighter around her form to ward off an imaginary chill. 

“I knew they wouldn’t be here, but I had still fooled myself into thinking I might see Sabina when I opened the door.” She explained as his quizzical look. “Foolish.” 

“We’ll find them.” Hawke soothed, hooking her arm. “A mile south of here, you said? We can make that in no time.” 

“You should stop and rest.” Varania said, shaking her head. “Let me look at your shoulder again.” 

“It’s fine. I’m fine.” Hawke declared breezily with her charming grin and a wink. “C’mon, I want to get out of Tevinter as soon as possible.” 

“She should rest.” Varania turned her green eyes to him, crossing her arms over her chest pointedly. 

“Hawke…” He said warningly. 

“Well, we can’t rest here. The farmers will be in to milk and feed these beauties for the evening.” Hawke explained, her hand waving airily to the clouds. Something in their blank expressions caused her to laugh. 

“Well, it’s clear I should find someone else to help me when I purchase my own farm.” She said idly. 

“Fine, away from here, then we rest.” Fenris agreed, inclining his head to the open door. Hawke darted forwards, poking her head outside. Varania shook her head in a weary sort of resignation. 

“Where did you ever find her?” She asked, sounding honestly baffled. 

“I tricked her into killing a gang of slavers.” He admitted. “Then she just...stayed.” 

“Is that how courtship works in the south?” Varania asked, voice seemingly sincere. But there was a spark of wicked humor in those green eyes as she followed Hawke to the doors. 

_ “You are just as beautiful as I am.” A flash of that same humor and lips that smiled easily, clever hands holding something soft and beautiful, always something soft and beautiful. Worry, always so worried. Careless, she was so careless and…  _

“Fenris?” Hawke called again and her lurched forward as if on a hook. 

“I am here.” He answered, rubbing his temple softly. “Let us leave this place.” 

 

It was fully dark when they found the dilapidated shack, nearly due south from the barn they had emerged into. Fenris could hear the buzz of the night insects, a constant creeping song that vibrated in his head. Varania’s pace picked up eagerly as they approached and Hawke reached out to grab the pack slung over her shoulder and prevent her from rushing headlong. 

“I will go first.” Fenris said, unsheathing his sword. “You may follow.” 

“What if there isn’t enough room to swing a sword?” Hawke argued. “I should…” 

“You are done taking point for seven months. At least.” Fenris silenced her with a stern glare and stepped forward. There was no door, only an empty hole where once had stood. This had been a hunting lodge for a Magister, once, perhaps a decade or more ago. It seemed likely that the estate had been bankrupted or perhaps the hunting lodge sold and abandoned, forgotten. It was deep in a field of trees, large ones that a man could not get his arms the whole way around. And it was very, very quiet as he slipped into the shadows of the entrance hall. Yet again, the floors were too clean, devoid of footprints in the dust. He waited, listening, then turned right when he thought he heard the creak of a floorboard. There were stairs, still sturdy even though the railings had long since fallen away. Above them was a gallery lined with doors, and from the furthest one, a hint of the scent of smoke, a candle quickly snuffed. He moved forward, eyes steadily adjusting more and more to the darkness. 

He saw the glint of the moonlight on daggers from a broken window and lashed out, not with his blade, but with his elbow. The rogue on his left fell even as he let the power light his lyrium markings. The effort caused him to grit his teeth at the pain and the light was much duller than usual, but it was enough to reveal Ivy on the ground, Hawke’s staff blade at her throat. 

“Thank the Maker.” She sighed, sagging into the sodden, half rotted carpet. Then she glared. “Did you have to hit me so hard, grandpa?” 

“Sabina.” Varania interrupted quickly. Ivy pointed to the room at the end of the hall. “Told her we were playing hide and seek and shoved her in a...what do those nobles call it? An armoire?” 

Hawke offered Ivy a hand to lift herself back up, sheathing her knives. Varania ran from their side to the end of the hallway, tripping into the room in a state of utter breathlessness. “Bina!” She called. 

Fenris heard the armoire door burst open with a shattering sound and the girl’s joyful shriek of “Mama!” There was a sound of stumbling in the darkness, then a flicker of light and a prickle of mana. Fenris, Hawke, and Ivy followed, emerging into a room lit warmly with floating, glowing orbs and Varania on her knees, her arms enfolding the small girl to her. And when Varania’s shoulders started to shake, he turned away, embarrassed, and met Hawke’s eyes. 

He knew what Hawke was thinking without her saying a word, knew it in the challenge of the raised eyebrow and the tilted head. This, she was saying, is what you would have had us abandon in Tevinter for the safety of a child barely formed? 

“Mama, Ivy taught me to make shadows. Watch!” Sabina demanded, struggling from her mother’s grip. Varania quickly brushed her hand across her eyes, dispelling evidence of any loss of control as Sabina arranged her pudgy, child’s hands in front of the candle. Hawke quickly stooped to light it and Varania’s orbs vanished in a gentle sigh. 

In the light of the candle, a shadow emerged. “See! A wolf!” Sabina cried in delight. 

“Very good.” Varania said softly, letting her hand linger on Sabina’s curls. “Very, very good.” 

“Can we go home?” Sabina asked, almost forlorn, green eyes shining in the light. Hawke moved to set their packs down, then sunk to the floor herself, closing her eyes and resting her head against the wood. Lucia sank to her side with a huff, resting her head in Hawke’s lap. 

“No. No, dulce meum.” Varania said brightly, taking the child’s hands in hers. “We’re going to go on a journey and find a new home.” 

“And nobody will take me away?” Sabina asked softly. 

“Nobody will  _ ever _ take you away from me.” Varania said, a real smile blossoming on her lips. “There is nobody left to try, my love.” 

Sabina shot a look that was both confused and frightened towards him. Fenris stepped back to Hawke’s side, sinking to his knees as Sabina looked to her mother. “With them?” She asked. 

“Yes, I suppose so.” Varania said, unable to keep herself from kissing the child’s forehead. “Now, show me the other shadows you know.” 


	51. Finches and Blackbirds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varania and Fenris talk without running for their lives. Hawke is difficult. Baron Plucky makes an honorary appearance.

 

Varania had not left the city of Minrathous in three years. Oh, she had wanted to. Several times, when she felt sure she'd never earn another coin, when a man had looked at her oddly and she'd been sure he knew her secrets and would tell, when the rains had flooded the streets and the whole city smelled of rotten dead fish. But she had lost that luxury with Sabina, who had no papers proving she was free. Sabina was stuck in the city unless Varania could save up her weight in gold to smuggle them out, unless she trusted the people she heard whispers of that helped slaves running for no cost. 

But then, what would she do? At least in Minrathous, she could always turn to crime if her wares didn't sell. Outside of the city, wandering the countryside, she would struggle to feed the two of them. So she stayed, and it hadn't been bad, not always. She had lived with fear so long she could not remember what it felt like to be free of it. Until now.

They had split a watch three ways despite Hawke’s strenuous objections. Fenris had stated Hawke needed her rest and both women knew he was talking about the baby. Varania was rather more concerned that magebane would take several more hours to wear off and until then it would be like letting an exuberant puppy keep watch. 

So Ivy woke Varania for the second watch. She had gently placed Sabina next to Hawke, tucking the girl's cloak over her shoulders to ward off the night chill, before allowing herself to explore the ruin. When she had satisfied her curiosity, she had sat down at the front door and wrapped her cloak tightly around herself. The moon finished its rise and began to descend and she watched it dipping slowly, breathing in the air that was so unlike that of the city, that was clean and clear. 

She would never go back. There was sorrow in that, a complex knot of grief and regret, of longing and despair. And yet, nobody was alive anymore to follow her, to hunt or hurt. That brought a savage smile to her face every time it crossed her mind. The men she had feared were gone now, damned to the void. The one who had started this all dead at her hand. The satisfaction she felt was no less sweet for the tinge of violent madness that accompanied it. 

It wasn't justice, not really. And it wasn't vengeance, because Corix and Danarius had taken so many lives that they could not repay it with their deaths alone. But it was over and Sabina could grow without fear of their shadow darkening her door, grow free of the city with its noise and squalor. 

That was worth any price Varania may pay in the future. 

She heard footsteps from inside, quiet but sure. She looked over her shoulder, hand reaching reflexively to the hilt at her waist as she peered into the darkness. Perhaps it was Hawke, coming to tell her Sabina had woken and asked for her. 

Perhaps it was an assassin. After the week she had, not much would surprise her anymore.

It was Fenris instead, scowling at her form. In the gentle light of the moon, his lyrium brands appeared to glow. “Your watch ended over an hour ago.”

Had she been so lost in her thoughts? She jerked her eyes back to the moon, calculating and confirming its movement. Vishante kaffas, he was right. Still, there was certainly no reason for him to be angry at her for allowing him to sleep a bit more. “I thought perhaps the rest would improve your cheerful disposition.” 

He almost looked like Leto again for a moment, Leto at his most prickly and affronted, but Leto nonetheless. If she squinted just right she could nearly see him as he looked while peacefully sleeping. “I thought I'd find you eaten by wolves or worse.” 

“I think I could fend off a few wolves without incident.” She responded immediately, looking back up at the moon to say goodbye to the shining orb before she returned to the darkness of the decrepit interior.

“I can remember you.” His admission startled her, made her stiffen her spine. She dared not turn and look at him, not when he may see the roiling sea his words caused. Her mouth was suddenly dry. 

“Only pieces.” He continued, loping closer. She could imagine his feral grace, like one of the large cats that prowled Seheron, like the wolf that had replaced his name. “But I remember I feared for you in that house. I remember looking for you and being unable to find you. I remember a door.”

“The door doesn't matter.” Varania tried to sound nonchalant, tried to hide the nausea that rose unbidden at the thought. “It doesn't matter anymore.” She muttered. 

“I believe I failed you. I can see it… so clearly now. I was a fool and a coward and have been for many years. I could not remember you, so I thought you capable of anything.” He was right behind her, and yet miles, years away. “You said your brother would not have abandoned you, but I did.” 

“I had no claim on your loyalty. I benefited from the arrangement that has caused you so much agony, did I not?” Varania demanded, anger licking at her mind like a lover's tongue. “I made my choice. I had not seen you in years and the last…” She trailed off, biting her tongue. 

“When?” His voice had turned harsh, ragged with desperation. “Was it after? After this?” He gestured uselessly to the markings lining his tanned skin. She did not answer, did not want to. Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth and she did not manage to free it until he called her name in aggravation, his hand on her shoulder. A part of her detached mind observed that he was so careful to only touch cloak and dress, not skin, as if a part of him remembered that she could not bear to be touched after Corix. She had not been able to stand it for years. 

“Yes. From a distance. I did not speak to you. You did not look at me. But… mama, she tried. She tried so very hard to get word to you somehow and when that didn't work she waited for you to emerge. But when you did, she called your name. The name she had given you and you did not answer. She tried to grab your arm and you threw her to the ground and cursed her.” And Varania had been scared, she was not ashamed to admit it. She was only just seventeen then, a child still, and the creature that had finally emerged from Danarius's mansion had not been her brother. Even from where she had stood, hidden and paralyzed from fear, she'd seen the rage barely contained. 

And Fenris did not let go of her shoulder, the weight of his hand heavy but not completely wrong. He was staring into her eyes as if trying to find the memory in her mind and take it into his, his vicious form snarling at his own mother like a monster. “You vanished again for several more weeks into the mansion before emerging again. I had heard the ritual had not been completed to his specifications, but I do not know for sure. Everyone we knew, everyone I spoke to told us to consider you dead. People who had known us for years said that he had removed your soul, that it was better to think of you at the Maker's side.”

He was silent, his eyes far away. Varania waited moments before bringing her own hand up over his, at first to remove it from her shoulder, but when his eyes leapt to the gesture she let her palm rest on the back of his hand instead. His skin was warm under hers and he was close enough that she could smell sword polish. The scent squeezed her heart, reminded her of a fireside with her hands full of material and his full of metal and their silence easy, comfortable. Not like this thing, a ticking time bomb or a poison grenade. 

“I don't remember that. Sometimes when you speak I can remember a flash, but there is nothing.” The man sounded haunted, drained. “I was cruel to her. I must have caused her a great deal of pain.”

The cough that had taken their mother had started before that day, a hollow wrecking sound that caused the other elves in the insulae to shake their heads sadly. Varania's healing had been somewhat effective until that awful day, at least keeping her mother up and moving. After her beloved son had shoved her away so terribly, nothing more could have tied Eleni to this world. The woman had given up and laid down to die, as much of a broken heart as the cough that shredded her lungs to bloody bits that were coughed up onto Varania's dresses.

“You were her favorite.” Varania could say the words now evenly, without jealousy or blame. She had not been able to for a very long time, but the bruises to her heart had healed long ago. “You caused her far less trouble than I, and she was so very proud of you. She never forgave me for causing you to enter that trap.” In truth, Varania had never forgiven herself and could not foresee a future where she didn't carry the guilt of it like a gown of chains. 

And that was enough to make her pull away from his hand, to turn her eyes back to the house. She took a step past him, then another, tipping her chin into the air as if she could slip the chains. 

“It was not your fault.” Fenris muttered. She looked back at him over her shoulder, he was staring up at the moon as she had. And there were no other words to say. She returned back to the room where they slept. The traveling cloak Fenris had been wearing when they left Minrathous was spread over Hawke and Sabina, pulled up to both of their dark heads. 

 

In the morning, she woke to Sabina's chubby fingers patting her cheeks. The dawn streamed weakly through the windows, still pink on the edges. “Mama.” She whispered,  picking up the fabric of the heavy cloak. “This smells weird.” 

Varania rubbed the back of her hand over her eyes, blinking wearily at Sabina. “Not like ours.” The child continued. 

“It is not ours, love.” Varania said, reaching out to touch the wool. 

“It smells weird.” Sabina repeated, pushing the fabric under her nose. “Smell!”

It smelled like a whiff of alcohol, lemon, mineral oil. Sword polish. She propped herself up on her elbow and looked around the room. Hawke was snoring lightly beside them and Ivy was beside her, curled up into a ball so tightly she looked as small as Sabina. The Mabari and Fenris were not present. 

“What is that sound?” Sabina asked, her fingers at Varania's cheek again. “Listen, mama…”

Varania listened, then broke out into a smile that reflected in Sabina's green eyes. 

“It's birds, dulce meum.” Varania whispered, brushing back Sabina's dark curls. 

“Birds?” Sabina asked skeptically, and Varania knew she was thinking of the dirty pigeons, skinny and sickly or bloated with maggots that toddled around the Minrathous slums. 

“Singing birds.” Varania whispered, sitting up entirely. “They're outside in the trees. They sing to say hello to the sun.”

Children were a mystery. Sabina believed in fairies and the Maker with barely a thought, but the idea of singing birds instead of rotting pigeons made her look as cynical as an old man. Varania laughed, catching her daughter's arms with her fingers and pulling her close to kiss her forehead. Sabina giggled and wiggled in her arms. 

“Perhaps.” Hawke's voice was gruff and surly, her blue eyes still hidden beneath her dark hair and an arm flung over her face. “You should take this conversation outside.”

Sabina looked chastened for a moment, eyes swinging to Varania. But Varania could not help but laugh. “She's growing a baby and it makes her grumpy.” Varania soothed. 

“I'll show you grumpy.” Hawke grumbled, rolling onto her side away from them. Varania pressed a finger to Sabina's lips and cocked her head to the door in invitation. It took nothing more to have Sabina up, pulling on her arm. The cotton shift she wore swirling around her ankles as Varania stood, taking her hand. They picked their way through the crumbling hallways, much less melancholic in the breaking light, and to the front door. There,  Sabina stopped short and turned an inquisitive face to her mother at the sight before them. 

The mabari was on it's back, four legs raised to the air. Fenris sat beside the dog, one hand scratching the dog's belly as he praised her in Tevene. Beside them lay what could be called a stick, but what may have been more accurate to call a fallen branch. The dog rolled over, panting and fixed its eyes on Sabina, pushing the branch in her direction with a hopeful whine and a wiggle of its butt. 

“Lucia, that one is too big for her to throw.” Fenris explained rather patiently. “Perhaps something smaller?” 

With a quiet woof, Lucia bounded away. Sabina watched her go and leaned backwards into Varania's skirts, nervous and shy. Fenris looked at her, perhaps the first time the two had a chance to observe each other outside of fight and flight. The grown man looked just as skittish as the girl. Finally he cleared his throat and asked, softly. “Did you sleep well, miss Sabina?” 

“Yes.” Sabina answered warily. “The noise woke me up.”

Fenris's brow wrinkled and his eyes flicked to Varania for an explanation. Varania pointed to the trees and could not help the lump in her throat. It was sorrow and joy. “She has never heard birds that sing.” Only birds that ate the refuse even the starving would not touch. Birds that were sometimes caught and cooked by the desperate.

Fenris understood this as few could, his eyes widening a fraction before he shifted to the side. He gestured widely at the trees with a broad stroke of his arm.

Below the trees, the three elves held their breath in silence. In their silence, the songbirds trilled their notes even louder. Gingerly, Sabina stepped away from Varania and to the door, giving Fenris an unnecessarily wide berth before pausing and looking up at the trees. 

Varania watched the dim dawn light catch on her dark curls. She watched Sabina's head tip up quietly and breathless with wonder as the light turned her white shift to liquid gold, fine as any cloth Varania had ever held in her hands. 

Slowly, Fenris raised a graceful hand and pointed toward one of the trees. “There. See that yellow one in the tree? It is a finch.” He whispered. 

Sabina focused, still as one of the trees herself, leaning unconsciously forward on her tiptoes as if she may launch into the air herself in a flurry of feathers. Then she beamed and nodded, stepping forward again. “Finch?” She repeated.

“They are good luck on a journey.” Varania said softly, slipping beside her daughter and sitting on the girl's side. “Seeing a finch means you will enjoy your travels.”

“Who said?” Sabina asked curiously. Varania smiled when she answered.

“It was one of my mother's sayings.” Varania paused, watching as the mabari trotted back with a much more manageable stick. He laid it proudly at Sabina's feet. “Pick up the stick, Bina, and throw it at hard as you can.” 

Sabina bent down and picked it up, looking at the wood in her hand and into the mabari's bright, intelligent eyes. Then she cocked her hand back and let the stick fly several yards. With a woof, the dog sprinted, sticks and leaves thrown up by its paws. It snatched the stick from the ground and spun in a tight circle, racing back to Sabina and pulling up just short of running her over. The dog dropped the stick and opened its mouth, letting her tongue loll out in a near perfect canine grin. 

Sabina laughed in amusement, picking the stick up again. “Tell her she did well, Bina.” Varania called. 

“Canem bonum, Lucia.” Fenris said quietly. “Ipsum bonum.”

“Canem bonum!” Sabina repeated gleefully. “Vade!” She tossed the stick again, laughing as Lucia ran for it. 

“There were finches outside Kirkwall the day I entered the city. I remember thinking that it was a good omen, that it meant I would enjoy my time there. I did not know why I thought that.” Fenris admitted. “There are many things I know but I am unsure of how or why. I would like to ask you so many things, but I am unsure of how to begin.”

“Perhaps we should start with something small first.” Varania began thoughtfully, hesitant. “An unimportant question.” 

They lapsed into an awkward silence as Sabina and Lucia played. Finally broken by his gruff voice. “Is there a reason I hate fish?”

She couldn't help herself, her nose wrinkled in disgust and she made a face. “We were served spoiled fish as children by the kitchen. One of the children had stolen a whole pie and nobody would confess, so the cook took it upon herself to punish us all. You were...ten? We were ill for days. I cannot stomach it either, but we were lucky. Two of the littlest ones died.” But Sabina would never be in a place where the cook could poison children with impunity. Sabina who was throwing sticks to a dog big enough for her to ride, joyful, free, and lovely Sabina.

“That seems a cruel way to punish a child who stole a pie. Was it one of us?” Fenris asked. 

“Maker no. You were a well-behaved child.” Varania responded instantly. “I was not, but you would never have allowed me to take that risk.” 

“I discouraged many risks, then?” He asked. 

“If not for you, I would have been dead a hundred times by the time I was twelve. A thousand by sixteen. I hated you for it. And…” She stopped, pulled her knees up to her chin and pointed her eyes at Sabina and refused to tear them away. “I loved you fiercely, too. I find I am glad that you found someone else to love you that way.” 

“You found someone else to love that way.” He observed, and she could see his chin point in Sabina's direction. 

“I am sorry for what I have done and I would do it again if it was what it took to keep her from their hands. I saw no other option then.” She made her voice hard, like steel and stone. 

“They are dead and it is past.” Fenris said slowly. “Perhaps that is where it belongs.” 

Before either could speak, Hawke flopped down in the space between them with a heavy thump. She turned her back to Varania and whipped her shirt off with a complete disregard for modesty. “If you don't cut these out, I'm going to rip them out myself.” She threatened, handing a pair of scissors over her shoulder and jerking her thumb at the stitches holding a rapidly healing wound together. “They itch like a son of a…” 

“Your magic has returned?” Fenris asked as Varania sighed wearily and turned to her neat stitches. She began to snip the thread quickly, gently tugging it free. 

“Yes but I feel damn awful.” Hawke complained, rubbing her forehead. “I’ve had less severe hangovers from drinking the swill Corff used to sell for two coppers.”

“I recall you telling me once that poison was the finest ale in the Free Marches.” Fenris observed snidely. Hawke laughed, the sound free and bold. Sabina looked back and returned Hawke’s saucy wink with her own mischievous grin. 

“I only said that because I wanted you to come to the Hanged Man so Isabela and I could ogle you.” Hawke admitted. “And I don’t regret it for a moment.” 

As soon as the last string was pulled, blue light pulsed, warm and soothing over the wound, healing the last remnants. Hawke sighed in relief, stretching her arms over her head and laying back against the worn stone steps. Before Varania could follow suit and relax, Sabina was crawling into her lap, all elbows and knees, pushing her riot of curls impatiently from her face. “I’m hungry.” She declared imperiously. 

Hawke made a noise halfway between a retch and a groan. Fenris raised an eyebrow, looking down at her form. “You need to eat.” 

“You’ll be responsible for cleaning up the mess, then.” Hawke challenged. 

“Shhhh…” Sabina whispered, peering up at Fenris with her clear green eyes and holding a finger to her lips. “Mama said she’s growing a baby and  _ grumpy. _ ” 

Varania hid her laughter in Sabina’s curls, but  could not stop the shake of her shoulders. Peering through the dark tangles, she could see Fenris’s lips quirking in spite of himself. “She is always like this in the morning.” He confided conspiratorially. 

“If you’re finished.” Hawke drawled, but even she could not help the smile on her lips. “I think there are dried apples in the packs.” 

 

Ivy woke while Varania was trying hopelessly to coax some break into Sabina’s stomach in addition to the dried apples. She grumbled and pulled herself to the window, staring in the direction of Minrathous, hidden by the trees and hills, but there was a smudge of smoke far in the horizon. She studied it glumly before she sighed, lowering her head. “Void, that’s a lot of paperwork I’m gonna have to do.” 

“What do we do next?” Hawke asked, scowling as Fenris pointedly pushed a few crackers into her hand with a glare.

“I managed to send a bird when we got here, I’d had this set up as a bolt hole for a bit. With any luck, Nightingale will send instructions.” Ivy leaned back against the wall, closing her eyes. “Will take time for ‘em to get the city under control.” 

“Maybe they won’t.” Hawke said stubbornly. 

“They will.” Varania and Fenris answered together thoughtlessly. “What chance to men with no weapons have against the Magisters, Reyna?” Fenris finished. 

“Perhaps we should have…” 

“Stop. I won’t listen to this.” Fenris cut Hawke off. “You have another beside yourself to guard. I would not have you leading another hopeless cause.” 

“And what do you think?” Hawke challenged, shooting Varania a glare. Varania turned her gaze slowly back to her hands, braiding Sabina’s curls away from her face.

“I think you understand little, but you will.” Varania said softly. “Let Minrathous burn. I have what is important.” 

“Exactly.” Fenris remarked. In a flurry of temper, Hawke threw the crackers at his chest and stomped away. 

“You are impossible!” Fenris called after her, standing and gracefully stalking after her.

“And that,” Ivy began “Is secretly how all men feel about all women.” 

With that pronouncement, a flutter of feathers settled on the window sill and cawed impatiently, fixing beady eyes reprovingly on Ivy. Ivy crossed her arms and stared down the bird with a tube attached to it’s leg. 

“Baron Plucky, you little shite. We meet again.” The bird cawed back, and if birds could be vulgar, Varania was certain this one was. 

“Language.” She scolded mildly, pinning Sabina’s hairs as the child writhed impatiently. 

“I need my leather gloves before I try and get that off. It bites and scratches, so don’t ya even think of touching it.” Ivy warned, turning to her pack and muttering under her breath. 

“The maid was in the garden, hanging out the clothes.” Sabina sang. “Along came a blackbird and snipped off her…” 

“Nose!” Varania cackled, pinching the girl’s nose between her finger and thumb and letting her giggle in delight. 

“Yeah, that’s about right.” Ivy said, scowling and approaching the bird slowly. Sabina turned to watch, fascinated as the bird squawked. 

“Who’s it from?” Sabina asked. 

“The Inquisition.” Ivy explained patiently, waiting. “If we’re lucky, it’ll have a plan.” 

“And if we’re unlucky?” Varania asked. Ivy’s scowl deepened.

“Already bloody unlucky enough, I think, if they sent Baron Plucky.” 


	52. Dumat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric bonds with both Cassandra and Dorian. Dorian finally tells Varric what Maria saw at Redcliffe Castle. The rescue party arrives at the Silent Plains.

Dwarves didn’t dream, with the one exception of the Inquisitor. Varric could never hope to touch the fade himself, barring a similarly cataclysmic event. He mostly didn’t mind. He’d seen Hawke twisting in his sheets, sleeping off alcohol fueled mourning, tormented by her mother’s murdered corpse. He’d heard Fenris pacing and swearing, haunting the halls of the house in Llomeryn. He’d seen Merrill crying for her lost keeper and Isabela slamming back shots to ensure a night without dreams. He’d watched Maria Cadash awake and restless, building a tower of cards to stave off the fade clinging to her mind. 

His own two visits to the fade hadn’t exactly made him eager to return every night. Maker’s ass, he still shivered at the thought of the Nightmare demon looming up over them. Rivaini and Broody had turned on him and Hawke in the fade the first time, because demons were shit. Yeah, Varric could gladly go his whole life without thinking about the fade ever again. Except…

He laid in the bunk on the ship, listening to Dorian’s snoring, and wished he could see Maria. His mind was a traitorous thing, he was certain he had the color of her hair down, the way her voice sounded when he kissed her skin in the places she loved. He could conjure a perfect picture of her in his head, but that picture couldn’t touch him, couldn’t whisper in his ear. At least, if he was in the fade, he’d get blissful hours of her company before waking up to aching loneliness. 

And that was exactly why he’d be a shitty mage. The first desire demon to slap on Maria’s face would have his soul and whatever else it wanted. He was never one to resist temptation. 

 

_ Bianca visiting Kirkwall was a rare and luxurious risk. But he’d been so busy dealing with the fallout from the Deep Roads, he’d had hardly any time. This had come as an unexpected boon. Between dealing with their newly acquired fortune, his new responsibilities thanking to that ass Bartrand, and liberally spreading enough gold in bribes over the city to cover a squatting elf, three apostates, and a pirate from any trouble that could be brought down on them, he’d been too busy to scheme and pine.  _

_ And the Merchant’s Guild had grown complacent, perhaps thinking he’d settled into a life they kept trying to buttonhole him into. But he didn’t give up his suite at the Hanged Man, he didn’t ditch the disaster-prione apostate, and he didn’t give up Bianca. They could pry all those things out of his cold, dead hands.  _

_ But it’d been reckless, and after they’d shot the first three assassins, he’d bundled Bianca out the door and dashed up to Hawke’s new estate. The door was locked, but Varric had a key. Andraste must have been smiling on him, because Hawke was alone with her mabari, reclining in the study with the hound on her feet and a book of smutty poetry in her lap. She looked up from her book, startled, placing the glass of wine on the floor. “Maker’s ass, Varric. You’ll wake up mother and I’ll never hear the end of it.”  _

_ “I think she’d be more disappointed in your reading material.” Varric muttered, slamming the door shut behind him. “I stock this decadent hovel with the best literature, and that shit is what you’re reading?”  _

_ “Anders just left.” Hawke shrugged, fanning herself with the book. “What’s a girl to do when she’s surrounding by all these handsome men who are too interested in oiling swords, dipping quills, and fingering gears?”  _

_ “You could do Isabela.” Varric remarked, snapping the curtains closed as Hawke’s head tipped to the side and concern laced through her humor. “Hawke, meet Bianca. Bianca, Hawke.”  _

_ “You’re Hawke?” Bianca asked dubiously, eyes flicking humorlessly to Varric and back, sweeping up Hawke’s mostly bare legs, the short robe snug around her waist, the deep neckline emphasizing but not revealing her cleavage.  _

_ And suddenly, Varric wished Hawke lounged around reading her smut in many more layers of clothing. Maybe those robes the Chantry sisters wore.  _

_ “You’re Bianca!” Hawke exclaimed, almost girlish in her excitement, rising from the couch with as much joy as her Mabari when he was greeting someone at the door.  _

_ Before they could say anything else, a crossbow bolt shattered one of Hawke’s windows and landed, trembling, in the wall. “A bit of help, Hawke?” Varric asked.  _

 

Maybe he should rethink the plan to haul Hawke and Broody back to Skyhold by their respective ears. It may have been a blessing in disguise for Hawke, pretty enough for a human, to be away from his burgeoning courtship. But Maria hadn’t looked in the least bit jealous, even drunk, when she found out Hawke was crashing in his bed.

Still, he’d get them their own bed. Far away from his. Other end of Skyhold far away. Maybe in the stables. 

Or, he thought hopefully, he could just move all his things up to the Inquisitor's rooms after confessing his love with ballads and rose petals. All those damn stairs, though. 

“Varric, are you awake?” Cassandra asked quietly.

“Who could sleep with that damn Tevinter snoring? It's a crime against the Maker, seeker. You should do something.” Varic huffed, turning on his side. 

He could almost picture the serious, thoughtful features of her face puzzling over that. “I could smother him.”

“Seeker, you're joking! Who's the good influence? Maria, or dare I say, a much manlier dwarf?” Varric teased. 

“I should not have asked about Bianca. It was wrong to pry.” Cassandra stated evenly. “I had a lover named Regalyan, a mage. He died in the Conclave. I had not seen him for some time but…”

“Shit, Seeker, you don't have to tell me this.” Varric pleaded, pulling himself up on his elbow. “We were square.”

“I am a woman of few friends, and I lost many that day, many before that in the war. I fear I shall lose more before this is finished.” She paused, he could almost hear her chewing her lip. “I had a dream as vivid as if it was real, as if I could read the future in the fade. I saw us together, Solas, you, Maria and me. As it was in the beginning on that mountain path. It sounds idiotic, I know, but I realized then I was surrounded by friends.” 

Varric didn’t know what to say, but before the silence could stretch on uncomfortably, a snore that would have sounded more likely coming from the Iron Bull nearly shook the room. “Oh for the love of the Maker!” Cassandra exclaimed, followed by a soft whump of a pillow thrown with excessive force and furious, half-formed curses in Tevene. 

“What is it?” Dorian sputtered, “Under attack!” 

“Don’t be so dramatic, sparkler. Ships rock, things get shaken loose, go back to sleep.” Varric covered smoothly with a grin hidden in the dark. 

 

The boat docked in Cumberland two days later, with none of them significantly worse for wear. He was pretty sure there was an unspoken pact between him and the Seeker that if someone needed to be sacrificed for the greater good, it would certainly be Dorian. The mage was looking disgustingly dewy eyed at a memorial made of human bones stacked into a macabre sculpture of Andraste.

“Seeker, your dour personality is becoming more forgivable by the second.” Varric commented wryly. 

“I am distinctly remembering why I left, yes.” She admitted, eying the sculpture with a scowl.

“She's a masterpiece! Do you think the Inquisitor would let me recreate her from the bodies of Venatori?” Dorian asked with a flashy grin. 

“Absolutely not.” Cassandra stated unequivocally.

“I'll make a bet with you, she'll close another damn hole in the sky before Maria allows a monstrosity like that.” Varric drawled.

“A deal! How many more holes can possibly occur in the sky?” Dorian chirped. 

Before anything else could be said, a man appeared beside Dorian, glaring suspiciously at the staff on his back. He spat in the dirt at Dorian's feet before moving past. 

“Well, he didn't even give me a chance to be charming.” Dorian muttered. 

“Tensions are high here. There are refugees from the Mage and Templar war at the College of Magi, mages who refused to fight or bow, mostly the young and elderly.” Cassandra pointed to a graceful spiral looming high in the distance. “The population blames them for a variety of ills.”

“My favorite rumor is that mages can cause boils by glaring. I'm sure Hawke would have used that quite a lot if she could have.” Varric remarked cheerfully. 

“There must be quite a lot of knowledge in that remarkably pointy building.” Dorian said wistfully. “Has the Inquisitor…?” 

“She's sent personal invitations for them to come to Skyhold, but they don't trust her either. Not much Maria can do except try to figure out who's to blame for spreading all this filth around.” Varric shrugged. “Nightingale is pretty sure it's our old friends the Venatori.”

“One of the few groups of people who may be improved with boils.” Dorian sighed. “I shall endeavor to stay behind Seeker Pentaghast and avoid giving the local populace the evil eye.” 

“Oy!” A booming voice yelled from behind him. Varric turned, one hand already reaching for Bianca. He saw a bulky dwarf ambling toward him, a wicked double edged ax on his back. “Tethras, right? And Seeker Pentaghast?” 

“Depends on who’s asking.” Varric said lightly. The man grinned, his tattoos stretching over his cheeks. Legion of the dead tattoos. 

“Message here from Skyhold.” The man said, producing a crumpled looking missive from his gleaming armor. “Of course, if you don’t want it, the boys and I’d love to know what it says.” 

“What is a member of the legion doing here?” Varric asked as he reached for the paper. 

“King Bhelen supports the Inquisition.” The man said simply. “My name’s Korbin. I’d complain about running menial errands, but I’m so sick of those damn humans at the college in their fuckin’ skirts, I’d run errands all day long.” 

“Well I’m sure they’re just as charmed by you.” Dorian muttered. 

“Whole place is a simmering hotbed of mistrust. We could get those kids and old folks to Skyhold, but the skirts in charge don’t trust the Inquisitor. Want her to dismiss Commander Cullen and promise mages will be free. She won’t do the one and can’t do the other. They’ve got some artifacts in that buildin’ we think the Venatori want and we can’t let them get their grubby fingers on ‘em. It’s a fuckin’ mess.” 

“What is the plan?” Cassandra asked, scowling at the spire. 

“Inquisitor says no force is to be used on the refugees. She’s tryin’ to get the Duke here to clamp down on this mob mentality, but no good so far. Our other option is to leave the skirts to their own devices and steal the artifacts. Ain’t none of us feel good about tossin’ those children to the mob, though.” Korbin scratched his beard thoughtfully. “I suppose you aren’t here with a new brilliliant plan?” 

“Sorry to disappoint.” Dorian said dryly. “Politics, right? In Tevinter we’d just start assassinating.” 

“Gotta admire the cleaness of it, at least.” Korbin shrugged, eying Varric speculatively. “Interesting rumors outta Skyhold about the Inquisitor and a deshyr, know anything about that?” 

“Is the Inquisitor’s private life fodder for gossip out here? I’m sure she’ll be delighted.” Cassandra’s voice made the threat clear. Korbin shrugged and began to walk away, whistling. 

“What’s the message say?” Dorian asked impatiently as Varric unrolled the scroll.

 

_ Varric,  _

 

_ Message from Minrathous. All well by skin of their teeth. Ivy returning to city and the rest are flying south.  _

_ Cole keeps bringing me those blue flowers and says you’d bring them if you were here. I miss you, you ass. Be safe.  _

_ Maria  _

 

Tension he’d been carrying for days melted from his shoulders and he grinned, shoving the missive in his coat pocket. “Hawke managed to slip out of Minrathous after all, so storming the city isn’t going to be necessary.” 

“Thank the Maker.” Cassandra whispered fervently. “With any luck, we will meet them at the border and not step foot in Tevinter.”

“You obviously haven’t gotten the memo about our luck, Seeker. It’s never quite that good.” Varric observed. “And Hawke has, if nothing else, a knack for finding the most impossible situations.” 

 

So he wasn’t particularly surprised when, upon leaving Cumberland, they were beset upon by Venatori agents. In retrospect, he was sure they made an enticing target. Three close advisors to the Inquisitor herself traipsing closer and closer to the border of Tevinter? When he looked at Cassandra and Dorian, he saw the thought in their faces too, and something deeper. 

“Why did you really come, Sparkler?” Varric asked the second night they camped along the Imperial highway. Cassandra had excused herself to bathe in a nearby stream and clean the blood from her armor. 

“For glory? To strike a bloody nose against the worst of my homeland?” Dorian offered gamely, sniffing at the ale they’d brought with them. 

“All things you’re more likely to get by Maria’s side than mine.” Varric pointed out. 

“Perhaps.” Dorian agreed. Varric waited patiently, weighing the mage with his gaze until the man cursed. 

“Fasta vass! If you must know, there are two reasons I am here. The first is, my dwarven friend, rumors of your liaison with the Inquisitor are rife. The idea of you leaving and going anywhere on your own is preposterous, do you know what the Venatori would do if they got their grimy hands on you?” He challenged.

“I imagine I’ve seen worse.” Varric replied easily. 

“Did she ever tell you what she saw at Redcliffe?” Dorian asked after a beat. “Not the official version, the one in the report. Has she ever told you what really happened?”

“She saw me die. I know that.” Varric thought back to that night, Maria woken from a nightmare, whispering that they’d all died to save her. That it had been real, even as he’d crooned it was only a nightmare. “She said we all died.”

“I’ll paint you a picture then. We find ourselves in Redcliffe Castle’s dungeons facing down demons and Venatori, red lyrium spiking out everywhere. We find you, Sera, and Blackwall alive in the dungeons, but slowly going crazy with red lyrium poisoning. Do you think Sera doesn’t make sense now? Maker, Sera on red lyrium is even worse. Cullen was in the cells too, with the red lyrium growing out of his body, Varric. Maria slit his throat rather than leave him that way.” Dorian’s voice shook, but he continued. 

“Bull’s horns were on display in the great hall like a trophy. They were torturing Leliana, her face was so scarred I could hardly recognize her. We stepped over Vivienne’s dessicated corpse to face Alexius, and Maria didn’t stop. Alexius told her he’d murdered her sister, and she didn’t stop.” Dorian sighed, rubbed his face. He looked older now, haunted. “You told her you were sorry. That you thought, maybe, you could have loved her. You said that you wanted to tell her that the night before we’d gone to Redcliffe Castle. You said that if you’d had the chance, you’d have spent your whole life trying to make her laugh. Then you kissed her cheek and walked out the door. She was shaking, bow pointed at the door. Kaffas, I was trying to open the portal and the door broke down, a demon tossed your body to the ground. What was left of it, anyway. Do you know what she did?” 

Varric was afraid to ask. “I’m hoping stayed by your side and let you work your magic to end the whole nightmare.” 

Dorian snorted impatiently, downing the ale he’d been eying so mistrustfully. “Of course she didn’t. She tried to run off, I had to grab her and hold her. She lost her mind, after everything she had seen and done, that caused her to break. She would have sacrificed the world for you. The Venatori don’t know that, not yet. But that woman loves you. After all she has done for me, for Thedas, I would not see her forced to choose between the world and you again.” 

For the first time in recent memory, Varric was at a loss for words. “Guess that explains why she punched Alexius.” 

“That was glorious, wasn’t it?” Dorian reclined with a dreamy sigh. Varric’s mind was swirling with deeply unpleasant pictures, the agony on Maria’s face when she faced the burning city in the fade, but the setting replaced with the throne room of Redcliffe castle. Maria Cadash was a woman who loved deeply, loved fully. 

Varric was suddenly quite humbled. 

“The second reason?” Varric asked as the silence stretched on. 

“I have done nothing to stop a system that kept your angry elf friend in chains. That allowed, encouraged abuses of such magnitude that nothing would be adequate compensation. I was blind to it, and when I was no longer blind, I still did nothing. Doing this is still not enough, I fear, but it is a start.” Dorian allowed a self-deprecating smile. “Perhaps it will do a bit to dispel the notion of the evil Magister sweeping in from the north.” 

“You’re a good man, Dorian.” Varric commented. 

“Don’t let it get out, or it’ll ruin my reputation.” Dorian warned. 

 

Despite Dorian’s pleading, they did not detour to the grand necropolis. Cassandra also studiously refused to allow either of them call her Pentaghast and made various threats of bodily harm to them if she so much as heard it. Varric suspected she was more afraid of being recognized as a Pentaghast then the roving bands of Venatori they kept running into. 

The roving bands were proving a pretty genuine concern, though. Particularly when they found a scribbled letter in the pockets of one referring to a rather large reward of gold for any who captured “Danarius’s pet wolf and his whore.” 

“Why would the Venatori care?” Varric asked, wiping his brow with his sleeve. 

“Corypheus loves powerful artifacts.” Dorian said glumly. “To him, perhaps that is all your friend is.” 

“A weapon.” Cassandra sneered. 

“Perhaps they wish to peel the lyrium from his skin. It would be worth a small fortune, yes?” Dorian inquired. “Or perhaps just to make an example of him for humiliating Tevinter.” 

“We’re cutting through them quite nicely, Seeker. Every reason to think Hawke and Fenris are as well.” Varric said brightly. 

“They are traveling with a child. I suspect they are avoiding as many battles as possible.” Cassandra mopped her own brow, peering into the distance. “Another day or so and we shall be at the border.” 

 

The news there was no more encouraging then it had been at the coast. An Inquisition scout greeted them warmly and gestured to the desolate fields stretching before them. “Welcome to the ass end of everywhere. This lovely vista is called the Silent Plains.” 

“It was the sight of the final battle with the Archdemon Dumat during the first blight. The archdemon was felled here, defeated by an army led by the first Grey Wardens.” Cassandra said, looking out over the bleak, gray, and dusty landscape. 

“Grounds so tainted nothing ever grew again.” Dorian added quietly.

“Venatori are out here trying to locate the sight where the archdemon fell, for what ends we can’t be sure.” The scout reported.

“Relatively certain they’re nefarious.” Varric commented. The scout smiled. 

“Oh, most definitely nefarious. We’ve found sites of blood magic ritual. We’ve taken care of the dead, Seeker, as respectfully as we can. Mostly elves.” The scout continued. 

“Slaves.” Dorian said softly. 

“We’ve got troops here from Tevinter and Nevarra trying to stop them, but both sides are in a pissing match about it. There’s a large Venatori encampment in between here and the Tevinter forces on the other side of the plains. Inquisition is loaning support to try to stop whatever is going on here.” The scout sighed, shaking his head. 

“The Champion and her husband will need to avoid both the Tevinter army and the Venatori.” Cassandra observed. “Is there a way to do so?” 

“The Champion? Of Kirkwall? Here?” The scout said dubiously. “We’ve seen no sign of anyone but Venatori and the soldiers. If a rescue is needed…”

“We’re the rescue party.” Dorian said with a grin. “Unofficially. Officially, there is no Inquisition rescue.” 

“Right.” The scout said, sighing. “I’ve got a map of the plains that’s pretty good. I’ll get it for you to take a look at, Seeker.” 

Dorian had peeled off, holding up an artifact, his eyes narrowing. “Where was this found?” He asked the scout, holding it aloft. 

“At one of the Venatori camps that the Nevarran forces took. One of the soldiers says his great aunt’s a mortalitasi and it looked familiar.” The scout reported .Cassandra turned and looked as well, tilting her head. 

“It is a talisman used to aid a mage in raising the dead.” Dorian explained. “This one has runes inscribed to alter its purpose.” 

“Nice of the Venatori to recycle.” Varric commented dryly. 

“It’s purpose is now no longer to raise a human body, but a beast. A very large, winged beast.” Dorian said slowly, staring at Cassandra. “Perhaps of Archdemon size?”  

There was only one word for this situation, and Varric knew it as Cassandra tensed and reached for her sword. “Shit.” 


	53. Fever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unexpected complication threatens to derail the entire escape from Tevinter.

Ivy would not be coming with them. The message she had fought off the squawking bird was in her fingers and his sister was trying vainly to occupy her rambunctious child and Hawke was still sulking with his child growing inside her while Lucia stood guard over her stomach (stupid, stupid he had not noticed she had been doing that for weeks.) 

And he regretted that Ivy would not be coming, regretted the loss of her blades as she spoke softly. Fenris had not run from Minrathous, he had fled Seheron, but Ivy had ran from Minrathous. Her experience would have proved invaluable, but Ivy had a cause, a herald to follow. He muttered back the instructions she provided, travel at night, stay off the road. 

Fenris had a cause as well. He needed to get this tribe of unmanageable women out of Tevinter without harm falling on any of them. Varric would be laughing his dwarven ass off when he saw the mess Fenris had gotten himself into. And that cause him to smile, just a bit, as he looked back down the scrap of paper. It was addressed to the Hawkes, the looping script unfamiliar to him but easy to read. Ivy had recognized it and handled it with almost a reverence. 

 

_ Hawkes, _

_ If you’re reading this, congratulations on the spectacular trail of destruction you left in Minrathous. Ivy has informed me of the child, your niece. Ivy’s instructions are to see to getting the girl to Skyhold safely if you fail to return in a timely fashion. If you have returned, I suppose it’s a moot point. Ivy will be returning to her mission in Minrathous and I cannot offer any direct aide to get you from Tevinter at the risk of pissing off the Magisters I need to stop the chaos in Thedas. I know you may not believe it, but I advocated strongly to use Inquisition influence to pull you free. Varric and my advisors wouldn’t hear of risking the Inquisition to do so, he says you’d agree.  _

_ If you get to Nevarra, the Inquisition will see you safely anywhere you wish. Skyhold is lovely this time of year and the invitation is open ended to you and your family. Varric has left the Inquisition and set out to retrieve you both, I’d be grateful if you can send him back to me in one piece wherever you choose to go.   _

_ -Cadash _

 

Fenris had felt a sudden fierce swell of affection for the dwarf. Varric did not know the whole situation, if he had Fenris wondered if Maria Cadash would have won out. Get to Nevarra then, to the Inquisition forces Ivy said were stationed in the border to help fight a Venatori enemy. That meant sneaking through the heart of Tevinter, through a barren wasteland, past Tevinter troops and possible Venatori cultists. All while protecting Hawke, Varania, and Sabina. 

He hoped Varric moved quickly. He could use the assistance. 

 

They spent the daylight taking turns resting and watching Sabina. When evening had truly fallen, they paid their farewells to Ivy and walked into the night. Sabina clutched onto Varania's hand tightly as they marched into darkness. Hawke looked over her shoulder, as the dim shadow of smoke coming from the city and bit her lip. Sabina attempted to turn and look as well, but Varania's guiding hand on her shoulder turned her away with a murmured word. 

“My father told me once that what you give to the world is what it gives back to you. What have we given them but false hope and death, Fenris?” She asked as he gripped her elbow. 

“Our deaths would serve no purpose. You are only one woman, Hawke. One woman cannot take the heart of the Imperium no matter how fierce she is.” Fenris stated, again. And he slipped his palm over Hawke's stomach, willing himself to feel the life inside the way Varania and Hawke could. This had been the key to calming her this morning and it worked again. She turned resolutely and followed Varania and Sabina. 

“Where are we going, mama?” Sabina asked. 

“We are going to a place named Skyhold, Bina. It is a great castle so high in the mountains it touches the sky.” Varania said gently. “It is very far. We’ll have to walk a great distance, out of Tevinter and into Nevarra. Then we’ll take a boat across the Waking Sea.” 

“Then we’ll be in Orlais.” Hawke stated resolutely. “And from there, it’ll be a short trip to Skyhold!” 

“Who lives there?” Sabina asked. 

“Lots of people.” Hawke reassured. “Children, elves, dwarves, mages. It’s quite a crew.” 

“Liberi? Aetate mea?” Sabina slipped into her childish Tevene, continuing to look at Hawke. Hawke looked blankly back. Fenris chuckled.

“She wants to know what age the children are. Some are older, some are younger. Some are your age.” Fenris answered, observing the way Sabina’s eyes flicked to him. 

“Are they bad or good? Antonius was older and bad. He pushed me.” She chirped.

Fenris raised an eyebrow and shot a look at Varania. “You allowed a boy to push her?” He asked incredulously. 

Varania rolled her eyes. “Bina, tota veritas, obsecro.” 

Sabina grinned, almost wicked in her innocent face although she wasn’t old enough to pull it off completely. She would be, one day. “Et pulsaverat.” She admitted quietly. 

Fenris laughed and Hawke made a noise of exasperation. “Reyna cannot speak Tevene, parvulus. May I ask why you hit this boy?” 

“He said I was a slave, but I am not!” Sabina protested in outrage. “Mama says I’m not. I live with mama and she works for herself.” 

“Indeed.” Fenris said softly, smiling. “How often do you fight with children larger than you?” 

“Only when I’m right.” Sabina sniffed, turning her nose up in the air in a gesture so similar to Varania it only made him smile more. 

“As you can see.” Varania said dryly. “She is more than capable of holding her own. Perhaps she should be more circumspectus, quod sic?” 

“Circumspectus means we don’t play roughly or go places Mama says we shouldn’t.” Sabina translated for Hawke. 

“Well, that sounds boring.” Hawke commented playfully. 

“Please do not encourage her.” Varania groaned as Sabina’s eyes flashed happily. They had emerged from the last of the tree cover and were facing rolling hills, some cultivated with neat rows of soil and newly sprouting plants. The moon lit up the sky above them like magic, casting the scene in shades of dark blues and blacks lit with silver. 

“Where are all the people?” Sabina asked. 

“In their houses. See?” Varania pointed at a cottage in the distance. “Only one family lives there. There aren’t as many people in the countryside, Sabina.” 

“It’s empty.” She said quietly, timidly. She had fisted one hand in Varania’s skirts and eyed the great expanse with trepidation. 

“It is not empty, we are here.” Varania soothed, one hand dipping into the dark curls. Lucia came up beside the girl and bowed her head, nudging a slim shoulder and making her giggle briefly. Then she looked back up at her mother. 

“Sunt monstra?” She asked pleadingly. 

“No, no there are no monsters.” Varania said, kneeling down beside her. 

“And if you’re worried about monsters, you should know Fenris and I are champion monster slayers. I’ve slayed two dragons and Fenris helped with one.” Hawke said conspiratorially.

“Two?” Fenris asked suspiciously. “You fought another dragon? When?” 

“Oh Varric was there, it was fine.” Hawke said, waving away his concern haphazardly. Sabina looked rather skeptical.

“You can’t slay a dragon, you don’t have a sword.” Sabina pointed out, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Fenris couldn’t help the small snort of laughter. 

“I can so!” Hawke protested indignantly. 

“Maybe you just helped.” Sabina reassured. “It’s okay to just help.” 

Hawke threw up her arms in exasperation and Fenris broke into a full laugh. 

 

Before starting their third night of travel, Varania told Sabina she may carry her doll from the pack. Sabina had opened the wrong pack, Hawke and Fenris’s, by mistake and was holding the silver shield with the Amell heraldry with red, examining it with delight. “What’s this?” She asked, crawling into Hawke’s lap. 

Varania looked up like a bird herself, eyes narrowing. “Sabina.” She scolded. “That is not from our bag.” 

“It’s fine.” Fenris said, reaching out to run his own finger down the side of the shield. “It is mine, it is the heraldry of the Amell family.” 

Hawke smiled softly, closing her eyes as she leaned back in the little hollow they’d found to shelter the day away. “Amell?” Sabina asked. 

“Yes. Reyna is a lady…” Hawke snorted, but Fenris continued. “Of the Free Marches. Her family name is Hawke, but her mother was an Amell. When she regained her family’s wealth, she reclaimed their symbols.” 

“My mother reclaimed their symbols.” Hawke corrected. 

“Are you a lord?” Sabina asked brightly. “Even though you’re an elf and not a mage?” 

Hawke laughed. “Oh, if I’m a lady, he’s most definitely a lord.” 

“Mages are not typically lords and ladies in the south, Sabina. If I understand correctly, Reyna is the only one.” Varania said softly. 

“Can I be a lady?” Sabina asked, leaning closer to Hawke. 

“Of course you can.” Hawke offered grandly. “If I haven’t lost my lady status because of my distinctly un-ladylike behavior I’d be more than happy to share it with you and your mother.” 

“You cannot promise such a thing.” Varania argued fruitlessly. Fenris shook his head. 

“If Reyna promises it, she will follow through.” He advised. 

“Varania, it’s not like I’m using the money.” Hawke said, resting one hand over her stomach. 

“I do not need your charity.” Varania seethed quietly. Hawke sighed and muttered something under her breath about prickly elves and squatting in abandoned mansions for six years. Sabina was still examining the shield with reverence. 

“You may hold onto it for me, if you wish.” Fenris offered. “It clasps onto your belt like this.” Sabina beamed, paying close attention as he slid the shield onto her belt. 

“Like a proper knight.” Hawke praised. Varania’s face softened as Sabina stood up straight as an iron rod. 

“You do understand it will be very difficult to get her to let go of that trinket, yes?” Varania asked, straightening the shield as Sabina danced closer to show it off. 

“I do not need it.” Fenris shrugged, touching the red ribbon at his wrist fondly. 

 

That night as they walked, Sabina slipped close to him like a shadow. She said nothing for some time until a shiny white stone caught her attention and she flew to it like a magpie, holding it up for him to expect with an excited babble of Tevene. “Respice!” She demanded, holding the stone in her small palm. It glittered in the faint star light. “Respice, patruus!” 

Look, look uncle. Fenris felt his throat swell and he shot a panicked look back at Varania. There was something great and terrible in her expression, emotions boiling over in a pot on a stove. Ignorant of the emotional turmoil, Sabina turned on her heel and presented the stone to Hawke with a chirp of “Amita! Reyna!” 

Aunt. 

Fenris swallowed hard and turned his face forward. He had never told Sabina what to call him, Leto or Fenris or any other name, so she had decided on one herself. Perhaps the one she wanted to call him. And, he realized, a name he desperately wanted to be called. 

Brother. Uncle. Father. 

 

Hawke complained of nausea as soon as she ate and hovered uncertainly between vomiting and not vomiting. It had been nearly two weeks and they were quickly approaching the silent plains. Sabina was sleeping rather more heavily than she typically did, but none of the adults could find it in them to complain as the sunlight began to fade. Fenris rubbed the small of Hawke’s back, leaned over her shoulder. 

“This is your fault.” She grumbled crossly. 

“It typically takes two for this condition to occur.” Varania observed, amused, passing a handful of crackers. “Eat these, slowly.” 

“I feel as if you should have to be nauseous too. It’s only fair.” Hawke said darkly. Fenris hid his smirk in her neck and snuck his hand around to cup her abdomen. Still barely rounded, a spark of life he could not feel or see. 

“I have to endure your complaining.” He remarked. Hawke huffed as Varania stood, passing a hand over Sabina’s head as she passed and freezing very suddenly. She stopped, sinking to her knees and pressing the back of her hand against the girl’s forehead, frowning. 

“Varania?” He asked as she removed her hand. 

“She has a fever, but only a small one.” Varania said, reaching for the packs. “You have elfroot, yes?” 

“Side pocket.” Hawke directed, concerned. “Is she ill?” 

“Children become ill sometimes.” Varania said softly. “It is usually nothing to worry about.” She pulled some of the dried leaves from the pocket and rolled them up. “I’ll have her chew these. It will help.” 

Fenris could tell Varania was worried regardless as she pressed her hand against the girl’s cheek. 

 

“Mama, I’m tired.” Sabina complained, lagging behind relatively early in the night. She typically needed carried only the last few hours. Varania stopped, pressing her hand against the girl’s forehead again and scowling. 

“It’s worse.” She explained as Hawke knelt down. “Don’t touch her, we cannot have you ill as well.” 

“Reyna, can you use magic?” Fenris asked, looking over his shoulder. They were too exposed here to stop. 

“Illnesses aren’t like wounds, amatus. Bethany and I working together could barely ease Father’s symptoms. The only healer I knew who could do anything for them was Anders.” Hawke explained patiently, ignoring Varania’s directions and pulling up Sabina’s shirt. Even Fenris could see it sticking to her skin in places. 

Varania conjured a ball of light and held it in her hands, revealing angry red dots lining Sabina’s skin. Varania drew in a sharp hiss of air and Hawke paled. “It’s alright, Bina.” Hawke soothed, tracing the dots. 

“I had this as a child, my whole village did.” Hawke said softly. “Did you and Fenris?” 

“Yes.” Varania admitted. “We call it morbilli. Leto and I were caught in an epidemic when we were young.” 

Morbilli. Fenris felt his blood run cold. He could not remember having it himself, but had assumed he had survived it as a child when an epidemic had crashed through Danarius’s servants in Seheron and he had not caught it. The adults who had caught it usually recovered, but the children…

Fenris had helped dig the mass grave where the slave children had been laid to rest, their small bodies laid gently on top of each other as families wailed. Half the children had perished. Others had been left blind or crippled. 

“I know a cure.” Hawke said grimly. Fenris felt a cold wave of relief. “My whole village survived it, Varania. My father was a very talented herbalist. But we need the herbs and I don’t have them.”

“We are nearly at the Silent plains. Nevarra is on the other side, and the Inquisition forces.” Fenris interrupted. “If we push, we can cross it within three days. Perhaps two. Would they have the herbs you need?” 

“It is the best chance.” Hawke said slowly, looking at Varania. “Our other option would be to return the way we came and try to enter one of the towns, but…” 

“No.” Varania said quietly, tugging Sabina’s shirt back down and sweeping her into her arms. “We continue on, we cannot risk going backwards. We must hurry.” 

 

Elfroot for the fever, every four hours. Water shoved down Sabina’s throat as she whined and tried to push them away, weak as a newborn kitten. The fever spiked and fell, then spiked again. They walked into the daylight, despite their wariness of drawing attention, and only stopped at noon to eat and fall into short, exhausted sleep. They began moving again before night fell, shifting Sabina’s weight from one to the other. 

Fenris held her longest, used to bearing the heaviest burden as it was, the weight of his greatsword twice that of the frail girl with the hummingbird heartbeat. Mostly, she slept in his arms. Sometimes she woke and weakly asked for a story. Fenris knew few stories, despite his time with Varric and Hawke. He began to describe the places he’d been. The jungle of Seheron with it’s sticky wet heat, leaves as broad as roofs, strange prickly fruit with sweet water inside and slinking large cats. Kirkwall with its imposing walls, cobblestone streets, and salty sea air. Ferelden’s rolling farmland and hardy villages, the forests where bears roamed freely. 

He did not know if these were good stories, but she accepted them without question and whined if he finished before she dropped back to sleep. And his heart was paralyzed with fear as her fevered cheek pressed against his neck, hot breath heavy. There was magic in her blood, barely any, but he could feel it in his lyrium regardless, a hum that was barely audible. 

Varania cried when she thought no one was looking at her, but he knew and Hawke did as well. He could tell in their silent, pained glances. Sabina’s illness must have been picked up in the city before they had left it, but at least in the city they would have had access to the herbs needed. 

Hawke could not understand the steady, cooing stream of Tevene that fell from Varania’s lips when she carried Sabina, but Fenris could. Stories, mostly, some surely made up and some achingly familiar, as if they were stories his own mother had told them so long ago. Then there were stories about Sabina and Varania. A litany of “Remember when…” and “You were only a baby…” 

Every ounce of life and energy drained from Varania, and Fenris knew exactly where it was going. He could feel it in short spurts of healing magic to bring down the fever, in salty tears he pretended not to see as the illness burned through Sabina. 

There were Tevinter troops guarding the imperial highway, he could see them. They were more focused on what was ahead than behind, but it required another damned detour. The silent plains stretched before them, empty except for rocks they slipped behind. Lucia whined as she sniffed the ground and then looked up at the girl held fast in Fenris’s arms. 

“She’ll be alright.” Hawke soothed, scratching Lucia’s head and using her staff as a walking stick. “How long, Fenris?” 

“We have lost time.” Fenris said slowly, jerking his head in the direction of the soldiers that had long since vanished. “Perhaps another day?” 

“Hush.” Varania said suddenly, one hand reaching in front of him to stop him short. He hitched Sabina up further into his arms and his niece let out a small moan. “Do you hear that?” 

Fenris held his breath and listened past the hammering heartbeat of Sabina, his own breathing. There, in the distance, approaching footsteps. 

The three of them melted into the rocks like it had been rehearsed, Fenris still clutching Sabina with one arm while the other went for his sword. Varania had a sword hilt in her hand and Hawke clutched her staff as the footsteps moved closer, closer, then stopped.

Fenris could picture the scene, the unknown approachers seeing the trail of footprints in the wasted soil, veering off suddenly to the right and vanishing around the outcropping of rocks. He waited until he heard the soft slither of metal being unsheathed, then a clicking sound that was intimately familiar, one he knew as well as the sound Hawke made when she was exasperated or his own heartbeat in battle. 

He did not grab Varania’s elbow in time, couldn’t have hoped to with Sabina in his other arm, but Hawke did. Varania leapt up, sword springing into existence with a thought, a glowing blue column of magic. Hawke followed her with a shout, pulling her back so that her swing just missed the nose of Seeker Pentaghast. The Seeker rolled back, her own sword swinging and stopped by Varric’s well muscled arm shoving her out of the way. 

“Waffles!” Varric exclaimed joyously. Hawke’s laughter was tinged with desperation as she threw herself into him, kissing his stubbled cheek. 

“I need dawn lotus, crystal grace, and vandal aria.” Hawke bubbled immediately. “Please tell me you have that.” 

“What?” Varric asked, eyes swinging over the assembled group as Fenris swept his eyes over Varric’s companions. The altus, which was enough to make his blood boil, and Seeker Pentaghast. Varric’s eyes narrowed onto the bundle of cloth Fenris was clutching and the child inside it, her dark curls tumbling lose. 

“Varric, I have a very, very sick child and not a lot of time to explain. Vandal aria, crystal grace, and dawn lotus.” Hawke said slowly. Varric turned, helplessly, to Dorian. The altus had already swung the pack from his shoulder and was searching. 

“Venhedis, I have all of it except for Crystal Grace.” He muttered. Hawke slumped in defeat. 

“That is her, your niece? And this is your sister?” Cassandra asked Fenris, eyes moving between the three elves. 

“Yes, this is Varania and her daughter, Sabina.” Fenris answered as the child shivered in his arms. He swallowed. “She is ill. It is morbilli.” 

Varania stood frozen between the strangers and Fenris, shielding her daughter. Cassandra nodded, but Varric looked to Hawke for an explanation. “Maefarath’s pox.” She explained softly. “I can cure it, but I don’t have what we need.” 

Dorian swore, eyes wide. “How long has she been ill?” He asked. 

“Three days. If we make it to the Inquisition camp in the next day…” Hawke began, but Varric slowly shook his head, rubbing his temples. 

“Hawke, it took us four days to get here from there. There’s a massive Venatori camp we had to skirt. They’re trying to use blood magic to raise the first Archdemon.” Varric explained. “The troops on both sides are gearing up to attack, but they’re too busy swinging their dicks to be bothered. The Inquisition troops are gearing up to attack alone, but they haven’t started yet.” 

“We don’t have four days to get to the Inquisition front lines.” Fenris said, desperate, eyes flicking to Hawke. “Varric, she is dying.” 

“He is right, I’ve never seen a child last that long without either recovering on their own or…” Dorian stopped, chastened by Hawke’s murderous glare. 

“Will she recover on her own?” Cassandra asked, eyes warm with sympathy. 

“I don’t know. The odds are even either way.” Hawke said, wiping her own hand briskly against her eyes. “Damnit, we have to get through.” 

“We can’t sneak through a whole army of Venatori, Hawke.” Varric said seriously. “We need to calm down and…” 

“We do not have to sneak through.” Varania interrupted coldly. “We need only to get Hawke and Sabina through. There are ways to accomplish that.”

“You cannot be serious.” Dorian said grimly. “That’s madness.” 

“Who is this?” Varania asked Fenris. “Altus? Inquisitor denique turba custodit.” 

“I can understand you.” Dorian interrupted. 

“Vel quia non crediditus illi.” Fenris remarked. 

“Salvum me huc as vos.” Dorian broke in. 

“Do I look as if I need saved?” Varania spat out harshly. “I will distract these Venatori myself if it will allow my child to recover. I care not.” 

“Vos mos non solum.” Fenris muttered gently, shifting Sabina slightly as Varania turned, stunned.

“Oh, I did not like the sound of that.” Hawke’s eyes narrowed, he ignored her. 

“Where are these Venatori?” Fenris asked.  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Liberi? Aetate mea?: Children? My age?
> 
> *Tota veritas, obsecro: The whole truth, please.
> 
> *Et pulsaverat: I punched him.
> 
> *Circumspectus, quod sic?: Cautious, yes?
> 
> *Inquisitor denique turba custodit: The Inquisitor keeps fine company.
> 
> *Vel quia non crediditus illi: I do not trust him either.
> 
> *Salvum me huc as vos: I’m here to save you.
> 
> *Vos mos non solum: You will not go alone.


	54. The Legion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The battle of the Silent Plains begins, despite Hawke's protests.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yet again, Varania is her very own trigger warning. There is nothing explicit, but plenty of nastiness implied.

 Darkness fell upon the lonely one,   
A night without moon or stars,   
As the legion followed, like bloodhounds,   
The trail of the rebel slaves.   
**Canticle of Shartan 3:1**

 

_The light fell across the floor as the door creaked open and she pushed herself further back, trying to hide among the linen, one hand pressing itself to her mouth to stifle her own breath. But the door continued to open despite her willing it shut and at first all she could see was a man silhouetted in the light of the hall, but then she heard her name._

_“Varania..” Soft as the touch of silk, but heavy, so heavy and this was worse. She clutched the tatters of her dress closer and could not bring herself to meet Leto's eyes, to see her shame reflected back. She pulled her knees closer to her heaving chest as he stepped into the closet. Leto dropped to his knees, one elegant calloused hand reaching for her and… it was not her brother's hand but another, her stomach jumped to her throat and panic clawed forward._

_“Don't!” She cried, flinching away. “Noli me tangere. Do not touch me, please. Obsecro, Leto.”_

_His hand froze immediately, slowly withdrawing and resting, twitching on his thigh. She dared a glance up through her lashes, could see him trembling. His jaw was clenched, his eyes roving over her like a ship unmoored. “I will not, I will not touch you if that is what you wish. It is only me, Varania.”_

_“I am so sorry. It is my fault, I have ruined everything. I am sorry, I am sorry.” She repeated, then back in Tevene. Leto made a shushing noise, his hand twitching again. Tears were falling down her face, tears she thought she had finished crying when she had laid, spoiled and bloody, on Corix's bed._

_“It is not. Stop.” He whispered gently. “Was it the first apprentice? I will see him pay,  Varania, I swear it to you.”_

_She covered her face with her hands. Leto could not give her justice and they both knew it. “He knows, Leto.” Her voice trembled on the words and she undressed her arms, revealing the long cuts running in intricate, almost beautiful swirls down her abdomen. Leto stiffened._

_“Heal them.” He ordered, gritting his teeth. Varania shook her head. “I cannot. He gave me poison and I cannot feel my magic. He took my blood and he took… he…” Her words failed her and she began to sob again, rocking back and forth, rubbing her arms across her knees, wishing. Wishing she was dead, wishing she had no magic. Wishing she had not been singing. Wishing she had not been there. Wishing Leto would stop looking at her with so much tenderness and take his sword and end her before…_

_“I will see him pay.” Leto promised, a promise he could not keep, a promise that brought her no relief, only a dull dread._

 

Sabina's heartbeat pulsed too quickly, like a caged bird beating its wings against the bars of a cage and Varania was certain she had not been this frightened since…

It did not matter. Nothing mattered except getting the ingredients to the medicine that could save her. If she could not save Sabina, if all this had been for nothing, then there was no Maker. No Maker, no reason or sense or goodness. And Varania's fingers shook when she brushed the curls back away from Sabina's face as they walked.

The dwarf and his human friends (an altus among them, and they could not be trusted no matter the reassurances) pointed the way to camp of the Venatori,  these men who sought to return Tevinter to old glory. And raise the fallen Dumat to raze the world to the ground. If Sabina died, they were welcome to it.

If they could not go around, they would go through. The dwarf outlined that the Imperial Highway ran straight through where the cultists hoped to perform their ritual and if they could dash south on the Imperial Highway, they could cut a day’s journey to precious hours. Especially if they stole one of the Venatori’s horses. They did not all need to go, only two of them. The rest could stay and engage the Venatori, disrupt the ritual, draw fire. Prevent Hawke from being followed.

And that was the part of the plan that met the most vehement resistance, as she knew it would when the idea had formed between her and Fenris.

The human mage had argued, wasting precious time. She said Varania could take Sabina and ride, she would teach the recipe for the medicine to her quickly and Hawke would stay. Varania could not ride a horse and did not trust herself to make the medicine correctly the first time, which she said calmly as the woman paled even further.

And still Hawke had argued against leaving them with all the passion she carried, voice raising, cheeks coloring. She had argued until Fenris drew himself up and turned dangerously to the dwarf, the trump card falling from his lips.

“Varric, she’s with child.”

The dwarf rocked backwards on his heels as if he’d been punched in the jaw and Hawke glared murderously as Fenris, but the decision was sealed the moment the three strangers raked their gaze across Hawke. “Now, Broody? You thought this was the best time to start those Broody babies I warned you about?” Varric asked weakly.

“I can fight.” Hawke protested.

“You’re a passable rider. You must get to the Inquisition forces and alert them to join the attack. We will hold off until then.” Fenris said calmly. “And you must be there to make the medicine for Sabina.”

Varania clutched her daughter even tighter, fighting the rising lump in her throat. “She doesn’t even have a weapon.” The altus argued, gesturing impotently in her direction. “We cannot take on a Venatori stronghold with two elves, a mage, a human battering ram, and a dwarf.”

“Varania is a weapon.” Hawke said softly, rubbing her temples. “Maker, I’m going to be sick.”

“Sit down, Waffles.” Varric instructed, not unkindly. “Do you need some water?”

“Don’t mother me.” Hawke growled almost as viciously as Fenris was capable of. “Even if I ride hard and encounter no problems, which as we all know is highly unlikely, it’ll be four hours until Inquisition soldiers can get to you. If they listen to me when I show up with a sick child and an exhausted horse.”

“Are you not the Champion of Kirkwall?” Varania asked tersely, shooting a glare at Hawke. “Will they not listen to you?”

“Some of the soldiers were at Adamant. They recall you, they will know you.” Cassandra reassured, crossing her arms.

“You’ll be dead regardless! Fenris, you’re being a stubborn ass.” Hawke cried out. “You’ll all die, you won’t last four hours.”

“I do not intend on dying tonight, Reyna.” Fenris said softly as Hawke dropped to the ground, cradling her head. Sympathetically, Varric put a hand on her shoulder. Fenris looked to the dwarf. “There are slaves there? For their blood magic, I assume.”

“Scouts say the Venatori have slaves in caravans and chained up. It is reported that there are at least seventy-five men and women.” Cassandra said slowly. “Malnourished, but otherwise unharmed.”

“Perhaps they would like a chance to die fighting.” Fenris said slowly. Varania’s heart stuttered in her chest.

“You’re suggesting pitting untrained slaves against fifty Venatori soldiers and mages?” The altus asked, aghast. “Fasta vass, they would never have even held a weapon. They’ll be slaughtered.”

“They were going to be slaughtered regardless.” Fenris replied, looking to Varric. “They must know that, if the Inquisition has found other sites of blood magic. If they were freed from their chains and given a chance, perhaps some could be saved. It is better than the alternative.”

“Anger can be a decent substitute for training.” Varania said softly, looking down into Sabina’s fevered face, the red creeping up behind her bronzed cheeks as her eyelashes fluttered. “I would choose to die and take as many with me as I could, if I were them. And they will follow Fenris.”

“They are…” The altus began again.

“Only someone who has never considered that their life may end fueling blood magic would not see that any alternative is a better one.” Varania cut in. “I have considered it and I know what my choice would be.”

“Cheery.” Varric muttered, eying Varania speculatively. “They’ll fight if Broody here does, you’re sure?”

She could not believe he would take her word, but his amber eyes were warm, trusting. Taking her presence at face value, accepting that if she was trusted by Fenris and Hawke, she was trustworthy. Varania raised her chin, nodded once.

“He is famous as a force of vengeance against Magisters who have wronged their slaves. They call him lupus in fabula and the white wolf of Seheron. They will believe he can win.” She explained.

“Reyna, I can win.” Fenris said, dropping to his knee beside her. “I would not do this if I thought I could not return to you. I will not die, I will win.”

Varania shuddered and tried not to think of the last time she had heard those words.

 

_“I forbid it.” Eleni said, her voice trembling as she paced in front of the fireplace, wringing her hands. “It is a trap, even if you win, and you most certainly will lose.”_

_“And what would you have us do?” Leto asked, leaning against the door frame, arms crossed and his expression thunderous. As deadly in repose as in action. “I would go to his quarters and slam my sword through his chest, but that is not an option either because I cannot risk harm befalling either of you.”_

_“There is nothing to be done.” Eleni said softly, not looking down to where Varania sat beside the fire. “He will be an apprentice no longer soon, and then this will be over. She must only endure.”_

_“Endure.” Leto’s mouth twisted into a snarl on the word. “Is that what you would wish on your only daughter?”_

_“Leto, stop.” Varania said, bringing her hand up to her ringing head. “She is right. I can endure it, I would not risk you.”_

_“It is not that simple.” A quiet, pained voice came from behind Leto. Her brother spun on his heel, taking in the smaller, darker man with the curly dark hair, his eyes pointed to the floor. “Dominus Corix is requesting your presence, Varania.”_

_Varania felt her heart skip several beats, her mind freezing, fixing the way the fire felt at her back, her mother’s trembling hands, and Leto frozen for just a second before he fell on Nico, grabbing the man’s collar and pushing him against the wall._

_“This is your fault.” Leto hissed as Nico gasped. Eleni’s eyes widened and she took a step back, but Varania finally felt as if she could move, stumbling as if her limbs were numb as she rose. “Leto, stop!” She commanded shrilly. “It is not his fault and you know it!”_

_Nico and Leto both ignored her, Nico’s dark eyes fixing on Leto’s, mournful as he placed his own hand over Leto’s trembling fist. “He intends to ask for her as a gift from Danarius. He is certain that the Magister will give her to him.”_

_Eleni’s sharp intake of breath was the only sound beyond the crackling of the fire. Her mother raised her roughened, reddened hands to her mouth and Leto dropped his hold on Nico, pacing back to Varania like a caged animal. “I will hide you, you do not have to go.”_

_“He will find me and you will be punished.” Varania protested, a feeling like ice settling in her veins. “You cannot save me, Leto.”_

_“I will.” Leto promised fervently._

_“Kill me.” Varania pleaded, staring up at him from her knees. “It would be better. You would not have to worry about my magic, about this. I would…”_

_“No.” Leto’s voice was barely a rasp. “Do not ask it of me, I would not.”_

_She was hardly able to stifle a sob as she stood, turning her back to Leto and taking an unsteady step towards Nico. He was there in a moment, holding an arm out for her to grasp. “Here.” The man said softly, pulling a powder from his pocket. “It will dull the pain, only a little, but it is better than nothing. I am… I am so sorry.”_

_“I will enter the tournament and I will win, I will use the boon to free the both of you and he shall not have you.” Leto promised, his eyes closed, the fire casting deep shadows over his face and making him look a decade older. “I will see you freed.”_

_“You will die.” Eleni said, her voice pitched upwards in anger. “You foolish boy, you will die.”_

_“I will not.” Leto vowed. “I will win, you will see.”_

_“As stubborn as your father.” Eleni had tears running down her cheeks that she brushed away impatiently._

_“I must take her, or he will come himself.” Nico said softly. Leto moved from the fireplace as if to stop him, but Varania held out her shaking arm._

_“No.” She whispered, closing her eyes. “I will go.”_

 

Their plan relied heavily on the hope that a surprise attack would allow them enough time to see Hawke on a horse and escaping and to allow time to free the slaves while Fenris and Cassandra took the brunt of the battle. In all honesty, it was a terrible plan and if there had been any other option, Varania would have taken it.

Varric scribbled a note and shoved it in Hawke’s pocket while she clung to Fenris, her arms twined around his neck. Varania wrapped the necklace Nico had given her once, so very long ago, around Sabina’s neck. She would have questions, someday, about her father. Varania still had so many unanswered questions about hers. If Varania was not there to answer them, at least the girl could hold onto the only thing her mother had of him.

“Quia delixit vos.” Varania muttered into Sabina’s ear. “Te amo.”

“Mama?” She asked weakly.

“It will be alright.” Varania said softly. “We will get you medicine and you will feel better, my love.”

“Te amo.” Sabina repeated softly. Varania squeezed her eyes shut, hard, until it hurt and white spots bloomed in the darkness. Then she pressed a kiss into Sabina’s dark curls, inhaled the sweet scent of them. Under the dust and dirt of the road, she could smell the elfroot they kept pushing into her, and the scent that was Sabina. The scent of soap and fresh water, clean and new.

“Are you ready?” The Seeker asked.

“No.” Varania replied stubbornly, then sighed. “But this is how it must be.”

“The Maker will be with her.” The Seeker’s eyes blazed. “He already has been, to make it this far.”

Varania desperately hoped that was true.

Before them, spread out, were rings of tents and cages. She could hear the nickering of horses, the rough laughter of men. Men in robes were illuminated in torches, placing objects in a pattern on the ground to complete whatever ritual they had envisioned. She could feel the oiled cling of blood magic in the air and she saw Hawke’s nose wrinkled beside her. Cassandra melted away from them to join Fenris as Hawke and Varania continued to slip closer, splitting from the rest of the group and making for a cluster of horses tied behind the tents.

Hawke untied one of the mounts, a sleek and powerful looking creature and stroked it’s nose soothingly. Then she grabbed a saddle from the ground and threw it over the beast, her fingers working deftly.

“Hey!” A voice yelled, approaching the horses. Varania froze and so did Hawke as the man came from behind them. “Who are you? What are you doing?”

Varania turned on her heel, one arm circled tight around Sabina as the sword flared to life in her other hand. She struck like a viper, sending the blade straight through the man’s throat before he could utter another sound. His arms windmilled in the air as he slid back, eyes going glassy and empty before he fell to the ground, blood spattering over both her and Sabina.

“Hurry.” Varania ordered briskly as Hawke resumed her work, fingers moving at a frantic pace as she affixed a bridle. Then she fell back and vaulted over the horse’s back just as screams erupted from the main camp. Her blue eyes snapped in their direction and her hands clutched at reins, white in their panic.

“If he dies, I swear to the Maker I’ll never forgive you.” Hawke’s voice trembled as she held her arms out for Sabina.

“If something happens to her, I will never forgive you.” Varania shoved her daughter up onto the horse, watching as Hawke gently settled her securely before her. The horse whinnied nervously. “Never.” Varania repeated.

“I’ve got her.” Hawke whispered, eyes shining. Something had caught fire, Varania could smell the smoke. Chaos was erupting in the camp. “Go to him. Please, please I’m begging you.”

“I will do what I can.” Varania promised. That would have to be enough. And Hawke nodded, her hands snapping the reins. The horse wheeled beautifully, it’s head tossed back and on two legs only for a moment, stark before the moonlight. Then all the hooves landed on the ground and the horse lurched forward into a gallop, hitting dirt and dust, then the cobblestones of the Imperial highway. A flying arrow launched after it, landing far short as the horse sped powerfully away and Hawke flew beyond the Venatori’s reach. Beyond Tevinter, beyond the murder and mayhem and battle. Varania could not help but feel rooted to the spot, her eyes latched onto the figure until she vanished from sight.

Varania turned on her heel, her heart cold and heavy as a stone, her blade glowing in the dark night like a beacon.


	55. Battle of the Silent Plains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Battle of the Silent Plains begins.

_Blessed are they who stand before_   
_The corrupt and the wicked and do not falter_   
_Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just_   
_Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow_   
_In their blood, the Maker’s Will is written._ _  
_ **_Canticle of Benedictions 4:10-11_ **

 

There was a story here, if he lived to tell it. A sick and dying child, a troubled and complicated woman weighted with secrets, a dark and mysterious hero sending his beloved away from battle while his child grew within her, friends arriving just in time to join in a futile and pitched victory against an enemy so superior that even fending them off would be an accomplishment. A desperate wait for reinforcements that may or may not come.

Cassandra would eat it up if she wasn't actually living it. Maria would enjoy it guiltily, laughing at the implausible romance of it and kissing his chin fondly.

Damnit, he should have told her. Now all he could do was scribble a letter on a torn paper from his journal. Folded tightly with her necklace inside, when he had held it, he had thought foolishly that he could feel her warmth still lingering in the gold.

 

_Maria,_

_If I don't come back to you, I'm sorry. I wanted to, I meant to. I should have told you before I left that I love you. There will never be a right time or a right place to tell you, but I love you. What I feel for you will exist forever, the void itself cannot claim it. I will love you from beyond the veil. I will love you for the rest of time. Wherever we return to when we leave this world, I will be there and I will wait for you._

_Maker, Maria. I wanted to give you a lifetime of this._

_Varric_

 

And he slipped it silently into Hawke's bag as she clung desperately to Broody. Hawke would see to it the damn same way she'd meant him to see to her letters, he could trust her with that last final sentiment.

“As always.” Varric whispered quietly to the elf as they edged closer to the Venatori camp, watching Hawke and Varania split off and made straight for the horses, carrying the little girl whose life hung precariously in the balance. “The two of you have the most impeccable timing I've ever seen. Did no one teach either of you about contraception? We had Isabela well stocked down the hall for years, Broody.”

“Should I assume your complaining means you are happy for us?” Fenris asked snidely.

“Shit, I'll be a proud uncle if we make it out of this. But I'm going to be damn furious if we don't, elf. I made a promise to a rather important woman.” Varric remarked.

“Vishante kaffas, we cannot return to Skyhold without Varric. She'll have us executed. We will have to live as fugitives.” Dorian muttered, aghast.

“Do you think she would not track us down?” Cassandra asked seriously.

Varric ignored them pointedly. “Broody, your sister. Complicated, I'm sure, but short and to the point. Can she be trusted?”

“Yes.” Fenris answered with a certainty Varric found reassuring.

“And can she fight?” Cassandra asked. Something akin to embarrassment flashed over Fenris's face. Oh, that answer was going to be delicious. He looked down at Lucia who looked up at him with a mirror of his own chastened expression.

“I was told she held her own against a Magister fueled by blood magic and struck down a half-dozen soldiers. The Magister felt the need to summon shades and demons to best her.” He paused. “I was indisposed and Hawke was poisoned with magebane, but Hawke recalls it quite clearly.”

“Always a party when the shades and demons come out.” Dorian muttered, disgusted. Cassandra made a noise that sounded impressed despite herself. “She does not wield a staff. I have seen few mages fight without one. Even Enchanter Vivienne uses a staff with the spirit blade she wields for better control.”

“No.” And there was a thread of something there, almost a quiet pride. “She does not use a staff.”

They entered the camp quietly, slipping to the cages where the slaves were kept.

Misery had a distinct smell, all its own. Varric had freed slaves before, thought himself an old hand at it. Hawke and Fenris had never met a ring of slavers they could resist murdering in Kirkwall and it'd kept them busy. This was different, these people weren't frightened kidnapped peasants. They were hauntingly silent and he could count ribs on all of them like they were bars to another cell. The smell was a combination of rotten fruit and the metallic tang of blood.

“Varric.” Cassandra directed as they approached the first cage. His lockpicks were out and in his hand momentarily.

“Who are you?” A heavily accented voice whispered, shining eyes staring out from between the bars. Angry and frightened, like a cat backed into a corner. But it was a woman's face, perhaps thirty-five, perhaps younger.

“I'm the dwarf who is going to get you out of here.” Varric said lightheartedly.

A shadow loomed over him and he knew before he looked up that the elf was brooding over him. Varric spared a glance up, confirming that it was Fenris. The light from the caught the lyrium inscribed cruelly over his skin, making him difficult to ignore. The woman in the cage gasped then pressed forward. Around them, he could hear the elves and humans in the cages coming to life like new leaves unfurling in the sun, eyes turning to gawk and stare.

He half expected Fenris to snap his jaw and growl, it was the reaction he'd always had in Kirkwall when someone's eyes lingered a bit too long, even Hawke's those first three years in Kirkwall. Instead, his fingers flexed then clenched into a fist. The only tell of discomfort. “These mages plan to use your blood to raise the Archdemon Dumat. We intend to disrupt this ritual and fight them until soldiers from the Southern Inquisition join us. We free you to fight or flee at your discretion.” Fenris paused, then repeated the whole elegant speech in Tevene.

“We have no weapons. They are kept there.” The woman jerked her head almost imperceptibly to the left. Dorian strode toward a caravan with a locked door and examined it before calling flames to his fingers and reaching out. The slaves began to whisper again and Fenris said something else in Tevene, jerking his head towards Dorian. “Was that a ringing endorsement of our resident mage?

“Hardly.” Fenris scoffed. The lock popped open in Varric's hand at the same time he heard someone shout from the direction of the horses. Another shout, then rather suspicious quiet. Somebody would be going to check that out.

“Free the others.” Fenris instructed, turning quickly and making for the center of camp with Cassandra at his right and Lucia slinking to his left.

“Sparkler, go after them.” Varric said as he opened the door and bodies pressed past him. Some, remarkably few to he honest, melted into the shadows. The rest went for the spare weapons.

“You do realize he told them only that I am not to be killed yet.” Dorian muttered.

“Just his way of being friendly, trust me.” Varric soothed, setting to work on the next lock. Soothing small motions, the click of the tumblers, the lock popping open. Onto the next. Automatic actions his fingers knew by heart, the same as oiling Bianca's gears, slipping the angel of death from his pocket into the cards he dealt. “Sparkler, Maria would be cross if I came back without you.” Settling in front of the next lock as Dorian disappeared into the night. He could hear screaming now, could feel the chaos unfolding, rippling around them. Broody and the Seeker certainly weren't ones for subtlety.

And perhaps it was too much to ask that they stop all the Venatori from swarming back to the cages while he tried to unlock the remaining four, but it would have been appreciated. As it was, he barely rolled out of the way of a bolt of lightning a mage threw at him.

“Bianca, say hello.” Varric muttered, letting the first bolt fly. The second missed by just a sliver, veering too far to the left as he sought cover behind one of the empty cages.

“For the Elder One!” A warrior cried, raising a sword and charging. Varric shot him down, but another ran behind him as Varric reloaded.

It was in slow motion,  every detail etched irrepressibly into his brain. The flash of fire (for a moment, he thought it was Hawke returned despite the fact Broody would surely murder her) as flames spread between the Venatori and the cages, one man falling and pulling burning robes from his body with an unholy shriek. The other warrior turned and slowed just enough for the elven woman to calmly step in front of him. Her blade burned bright white and she slashed easily across the warrior's exposed neck, twisting gracefully out of the way of his falling form.

His next bolt took out one mage from behind the fire, but the other launched a spell of his own that fell, crackling with dark and twisted energy, against a barrier held up from a bare hand almost like a shield. A shield that broke into thousands of razor sharp pieces of ice and launched themselves into the other mage.

Hawke had not been kidding. Varania was as much a living, breathing weapon as Fenris.

“I hate for you to feel as if you are being rushed.” She remarked dryly. “But I would prefer those cages opened before we all die gruesomely.”

Oh, she was definitely Broody's sister. Loquacious and snarky to the bitter end.

“Your wish is my command, Spitfire.” Varric answered with a chuckle that bordered on hysteria.

 

Cages opened. Slaves freed and armed with anything from blades retrieved from fallen corpses to burning pieces of wood. Now it was simply a game of survival. It reminded him, hauntingly, of the day the Gallows fell in Kirkwall. It was a desperate race against time as they slaughtered templars and blood mages, demons and abominations, pushing through the streets to the docks.

But then he saw the first demon and was reminded rather more clearly of fighting his way up to the Temple of Sacred Ashes with Maria at his side, the mark on her hand slowly killing her. The rage demon turned and bellowed, flames consuming a slave holding a tent pole as a weapon.

Frost crept up the creature, anchoring it to the ground. He was unsure of which mage was responsible, Varania had entered the fray on his left and he could hear Dorian taunting the Venatori from his right, but he knew the sword that struck the demon to a thousand pieces and was unsurprised to see Fenris standing in the aftermath.

“Cages open, Broody.” He pulled Bianca’s trigger, saw a Venatori mage bend backwards from where the bolt embedded itself in her forehead. “That was a beauty of a shot! Line ‘em up for me, I’ll take them down.”

“It would be an honor, my friend.” Fenris declared, turning swiftly to parry a strike and his lyrium lighting in a flash as he snarled and thrust his blade into the unlucky warrior. Lucia appeared like she had been summoned from the shadows, falling upon a rogue who had been approaching with a dagger, the sharp teeth sinking deep into flesh.

“I don’t mean to alarm you!” Dorian called, and Varric was able to look up. He’d perched himself on a platform, raining chaos down among the battle. “But it appears as if they are attempting this ritual now!”

“With what blood?” Cassandra demanded, outraged.

“Perhaps what we’re spilling, Seeker!” Dorian answered, sending electricity down the ladder and heading off the other mage who was attempting to climb up. “I would recommend stopping it, regardless. I confess I am not certain it would work, but I would hate to be wrong and end up in the throat of an archdemon!”

“To me!” Fenris called, raising his sword aloft. Then he dove forward, followed by the hastily armed slaves pulling weapons from corpses.

The battle turned into a siege as they attempted to breach the ritual site. Varric had lost track of time, although he had run out of bolts and was reduced now to scavenging from the corpses that fell before him. He’d seen both Dorian and Varania shakily downing lyrium potions at least twice each. Cassandra had lost her helm somehow, but was still swinging with determination and strength. Had he seen her with a stamina potion? He couldn’t remember.

Fenris, if this story was ever told, would be the hero of the day. He suspected that part of Varania’s magic was responsible for the lack of wounds, he’d felt the silky soft barriers around him more than once like a warm blanket. But nothing could touch the elf, no blade, no spell. He pushed forward as the Venatori drew back, tighter and tighter into the ritual space.

A rogue had attempted to sneak to his side with dual daggers, but a lyrium covered fist had ripped the man’s heart from his chest and tossed it to the ground in a way that had brought cheers from the standing slaves.

Varric had begun to think that they’d survive this miraculously intact. Perhaps it was that thought that made him carelessly kneel down without checking to retrieve more bolts. He didn’t see the rogue closing in on him until it was too late and the blade sank, deep, through leather and flesh, between his ribs. He cursed, loudly, but couldn’t help admiring the handiwork as the blade was wrenched free and a second dagger headed for his throat. He brought his arm up, quick, feeling the bite of steel in his arm instead.

“Varric!” Cassandra yelled, close. Her shield knocked the rogue off balance, sending the skinny woman flying before Cassandra’s sword sank into her chest.

“Flesh wound, Seeker!” Varric called, pulling the bolts he’d recovered. “Carry on!”

And at first, he had thought it wasn’t that bad. Cassandra pushed forward with her shield and sword and Varric could feel the adrenaline in his veins, pulsing bright.

Then he realized his fingers were going numb. It could have been five minutes, it could have been twenty. He reached down to where the blade had sunk and felt the blood pumping out of the wound, through his fingers live a river. He held his hand there, stunned. Not a flesh wound, he thought faintly as a noise buzzed in his head, an echoing sound that was getting louder.

His first instinct was to yell for Hawke and Anders, their names almost out of his mouth before he remembered that they weren’t there. His legs felt weak, darkness was beginning to cloud his vision. He turned toward a flash of white light, saw Fenris’s sword meeting the raised staff of a mage, an explosion of force throwing both men back. His head throbbed and his vision blurred.

Oh shit. Shit.

Then there was a cheer, a dull thing that sounded too far away. The sky was just beginning to turn pink in the East and Varric turned to it as he sank to his knees, Bianca falling from his hand to the ground in a clatter. For the first time, he didn’t think to care about the potential damage.

On the horizon, he saw horses and men, galloping fast. And there, the great flag with the eyeball wreathed in flames, the way Hercinia had gone up in flames. There was irony there, surely. He couldn’t see it without thinking of Maria, laughing, her red hair in the breeze as her flag fluttered behind her on Skyhold’s ramparts. He felt as if he could see her, as if he could reach out and pull her close. Then the breeze was gone and a steady drizzle pressed her wet hair against her pale neck, a new bruise on her chin and he wanted to lurch forward and touch it.

The blood sputtered from between his fingers again and he scanned the lines of approaching soldiers as if he’d see her, but he wouldn’t. He knew he wouldn’t. There were so many steps leading up to her rooms in Skyhold, circling endlessly, and he couldn’t hope to climb all of them. But she was at the top and he could hear her, safe, singing badly under her breath as she stacked cards on top of each other and the breeze drifted in from the balcony. “Maria.” He whispered.

The Inquisition forces charged, he could hear them, but he felt cold. Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow. _Maria._ Maker, protect her. Keep her safe, tell her…

Before the world went dark, he saw a flash of red and her name tumbled from his lips one last time.

 

On the storm coast, the light was coming up over the horizon, beginning to chase away the darkness of night. It had continued to drizzle and had turned into a fine mist, shrouding their company. An oiled canvas sheltered two of the figures from the storm, a hulking qunari next to a dwarven woman, her red hair plastered to her pale skin as they stared into the darkness. Around them, sprawled in tents, the Chargers slept. The only movement was Cole’s broad brimmed hat as he stoked the fire and Blackwall’s fingers as he whittled mindlessly, staring into the sputtering flames. The Iron Bull sighed, raising his mug and taking a deep drink. Maria Cadash shifted, rubbing her hand over her left ribs absently. The Iron Bull’s good eye locked onto the motion.

“Take a hit there, boss?” He asked, voice a low deep rumble.

“Must have.” The Inquisitor said softly. “Bull…”

“Boss, you don’t have to…” Iron Bull began, but Maria shook her head.

“I’m proud of you.” Her voice sounded choked for a moment, then she nodded in seeming finality. The Iron Bull sighed, passed another mug to her. They both took another long drink at the same time.

“Reaching, rough, rocking. Her flag on the horizon and it could be her, but it won’t be. Safe, strong. Skyhold, steps going ever higher but he won’t make it. Blood pulses through his fingers and her name is on his lips, a prayer to the Maker, to Andraste. A flash of red, her name again. Always her.” Cole stopped, frozen. “His pain reaches for hers.”

“That’s enough, lad.” Blackwall said gruffly. “There’s nothing to be done for dead bodies.”

Cole looked out from under his head, eyes fixing on the Inquisitor as she leaned her head against Iron Bull’s arm in silent companionship, her hand still resting over her ribs, where the blade had sunk into another, splitting and cutting and tearing. Bleeding and broken.

“I’m sorry.” Cole said softly to the night. Blackwall nodded and looked down. The sun broke over the horizon.


	56. Calpernia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The leader of the Venatori is revealed. The White Wolf of Seheron rallies.

_At Shartan's word, the sky_  
_Grew black with arrows._  
_At Our Lady's, ten thousand swords_  
_Rang from their sheaths._  
_A great hymn rose over Valarian Fields gladly, proclaiming:_ __  
Those who had been slaves were now free.  
**_Canticle of Shartan 10:1_**

 

He had not faced a great battle in years without Hawke by his side. True, she had often been integral to the battle beginning, but she had always been there. And when they fell headlong into danger, she had been behind his blade casting and swearing and cracking terrible jokes. The deep roads. The Qunari attack. The battle for the Gallows. Adamant.

And her final words to him before the battle had been quintessentially Hawke. Her blue eyes bright and shining with tears as she wrapped her thin fingers around his arms and held him in place. “I swear, if you die I'm divorcing you. I mean it, Fenris.”

And he had chuckled slightly, as he always had at most of Hawke's jokes from the very moment her confounding personality had burst into his life. A riot of colors and noise, an explosion of constant activity that only got worse as time went on. He finally thought he understood it to some degree.

Fenris had always thought he came to her full of personal deficiencies. He was not wealthy, he had no status, frankly he was not even always pleasant to be around. And yet, Reyna Hawke had chosen him. Not for wealth or status, nor because she needed his charm. Others could have offered her more, but he had offered his whole heart with no agenda, no rebellion to plan, no kingdom to capture or ancient history to reclaim, no distant call of the sea. Varric had been right to say that they would get by fine on their wits and the contents of their packs, they had for years. The two of them could live on nothing and be content. Truly, Reyna Hawke and Fenris wanted only one thing.

Their family.

Fenris had come south with no memories, only an aching pain when he  saw other families and a burning rage that it had been taken from him. He had been so sure that his family had been stolen, somehow, and had burned with venom and hatred because of it. Hawke had lost her family one by one. Her father to illness, Bethany to the Blight, Carver to the Wardens, her mother to blood magic. Left orphaned and alone in an estate that rattled emptily, she had created another family of misfits and renegades to patch the holes left by death and absence.

Fenris knew what he had always wanted, perhaps why he had stayed with Hawke and her merry band when he, for so many reasons, should not have trusted her. He craved her family, her warmth, the brightly burning hearth, the knowledge that someone on Thedas would miss him if he vanished into thin air. If Danarius did catch him and peel the lyrium from his skin, he would be remembered, perhaps missed. He had cowered at her door like a beaten dog, snarling at her kindness and bewildered by her acceptance. Wishing and wanting, hoping, but never truly believing. He had waited patiently for the other shoe to drop, for the inevitable betrayal.

Instead, the family Hawke had created had rallied time and time again. They pulled themselves from the Deep Roads. Merrill planted an exquisite garden in the Hawke estate. Isabela had returned with her treasure to save Hawke from the Qunari. Varric had stepped out of his suite and launched a bolt into the back of a demon when Danarius sprung his trap in the Hanged Man. Even Anders had given nearly everything to save Hawke when she lay, bleeding to death, in the Viscount's throne room. They had stood in a circle when Reyna allowed her mother's ashes to fly free on the wounded coast.

Then that family had been destroyed by the actions of the snake in their midst, leaving Fenris and Hawke with only each other as the rest scattered to the winds. Still, there had been letters from Varric, Carver, Merrill, Chantal Amell, Aveline, and Donnic. Their family spanning Thedas and waiting to coalesce once more. In the meantime, Fenris had provided a small piece of the family Reyna craved with Lucia and himself.

 

He could give her the real thing, a family made of their flesh and bones. It had become clear the moment Hawke admitted to wanting the child she carried, his child, with a ragged desperation and hope he had not seen in her before. It solidified further as they traveled with Varania and Sabina, who called her Reyna and amita, aunt. More people to call her that elusive, half forgotten name her father had given her, hidden behind the mantle of the Champion, hidden behind Varric’s stories and her dazzling reputation.

His child would call her mama, and she would bend to scoop it up. Half-formed images of a girl that was the spitting image of Hawke, complete with dark hair and bright blue eyes, the only trace of him in a complexion kissed by the sun as she wrapped her arms around Hawke's neck. A boy holding a wooden sword with his piercing green eyes, shared with Sabina as she grew older. Sabina, a young woman who had always been free, joyfully whistling for a mabari to join her side as she tied back unruly curls.

His head throbbed and warned him away from that thought, there was no time to examine it or the accompanying name, _Nico_.

He would return to his wife and their child, he would not leave her alone ever again. They would build the family that had always been sharply missing in the echoing halls of the Hawke estate. His memory, he knew, was a fickle and broken thing. He was certain, however, that he had never been more sure of anything as he rushed to the site of the ritual.

 

Blood magic rippled along the lyrium scars, leaving an unclean feeling behind. A feeling that would take weeks to fade despite repeated bathing, if experience was any guide to the future. As if every inch of him had been blackened with tar. Smoke burned acrid in his nose and mouth, blotting out all scents except that of blood, warm and wet. It was not his blood, of that he was sure. He had not taken a single hit. His enemies were not so lucky.

He had not fought with such clear minded focus and fury since the day he killed Danarius. A head rolled off the shoulders of a mage who’d been too slow to dart away, his lyrium covered fist ripped the heart from the breastplate of a warrior before he spun and thrust his blade deep in the chest of a rogue who had been circling Varania. And when he pushed forward against the Venatori, he was followed.

Perhaps that was the most unbelievable thing of all. The Seeker that had attempted to dog their footsteps followed willingly, the altus responded to his shouted orders, his sister was never far from his side, her barriers laying over him like a second skin when she had a moment to create and strengthen them. The slaves they had freed and armed swarmed to him, facing the Venatori without a thought for their own lives or safety. He found himself as concerned for them as he was for Varric, rushing through to save a group, counting their bodies as he moved forward. The Venatori were being pushed back, but they were paying for each step in blood.

“Can you tell which mage is in charge?” Fenris shouted at Dorian. The altus stopped, a lyrium potion in his hand. His third? Varania, he was sure, was on her fourth of Hawke’s considerable supplies. The man passed a weary hand over his eyes. They had been fighting for hours, it was time to end this.

“The woman!” Dorian answered. “Not a magister, never saw her before in my life, but she’s the one supervising the ritual!”

“She has her own guards!” Cassandra shouted back, withdrawing her blade from a shade. “Black robes.”

“Nothing is ever easy.” He muttered darkly, looking forward. Then he heard something out of place. Something that caused him to smirk and throw a quick glance over his shoulder.

In the east, pale pink light was beginning to seep into the night sky. And in the south, a cloud of dust and glinting, raised swords. Fluttering proudly in the wind, a banner displaying the flaming eye of the Inquisition. Hawke, he thought. She had made it, she had convinced the soldiers to attack.

Now, it was up to him to keep his end of the bargain and return victorious. And it seemed almost ridiculously easy. Perhaps, finally, Hawke’s sunny optimism had rubbed off on him. It was imperative Varric never find out.

_Varric._

He had not seen any bolts fly past in far too long, but there was an opening just in front of him. He could rush it, quickly take out the mage guarding the woman, and engage her. If she fell, perhaps this could end in further bloodshed. Still, he tore his eyes away from the opening and looked back, scanning the faces behind him.

The dwarf was still, too still. His eyes going blank and focused far away, past the soldiers on the horizon on a point Fenris could not see. His hand was pressed to his side and his gloves were covered in dark red, his leathers saturated, the ground at his feet dark with it. The battle faded away in a dull roar as the dwarf dropped to his knees.

His friend. His friend who had rushed from the side of the woman Hawke claimed it was clear he loved to their rescue.

“Go!” There was a hand on his shoulder, pushing him forward into the fray. His eyes slipped down to the bright green orbs, a perfect match for his, that were looking up at him. Varania’s lips moved, the words falling from them. “Vos terminus hic. Vade!”

 

_Varania was crying, her slim shoulders shaking. He could see her from the corner of his eyes as Danarius snapped his fingers for him to follow. His tongue felt heavy, leaden, in his mouth. He could taste only fear._

_“Obsecro, Magister. May I have a moment to say goodbye?” He asked, quiet. The Magister’s smirk became more pronounced._

_“A favor already? After your deceit has been revealed?” Danarius asked softly. “I find it hard to believe you and your mother did not know you harbored a mage in this household, one who needed proper handling. You are lucky I have consented to keep my word to honor the boon, in spite of this.”_

_His words sent another tremor through his heart and confirmed that he had always done the right thing. Even know. He raised his eyes, meeting the Magister’s, and felt a breath of pride rush through him. He had beaten him, even in his sacrifice, he had beaten the Magister and the first apprentice. There was no way Danarius could refuse to honor the boon and his family was safe because of his actions. “Please.” Leto stated._

_“Be quick about it.” Danarius snapped, taking a step back. Leto turned, taking in Varania and his mother, both frightened, both shaking._

_“What will we do, Leto?” Eleni asked. “We have nothing. Nothing and we have lost everything.”_

_“You are free.” He whispered. “Leave Minrathous. Leave Tevinter.”_

_“How could we leave you?” Varania asked, her tears streaking down her cheeks. And she reached for him, the first time she had touched anyone since that day he found her bruised and bloody (not broken, never broken) in the closet. “How can I leave you?” She asked into his shoulder, her arms tightening around him._

_“Leto.” Danarius called, voice like iron. He leaned back, squeezing Varania’s hands and touching his lips to the wrinkled cheek of his mother._

_“Vade.” He said softly. “Mitte me, et vadum. Vade.”_  


Varania was already gone, pushing through the battle to reach the dwarf’s side. So Fenris turned and lunged into the opening, meeting the first mage who threw his staff up to block his sword. An explosion of force threw both the mage and Fenris backwards, but Fenris regained his feet quicker, his sword thrusting into the unguarded chest of the mage. Another of the guarding mages summoned flames, but this was snuffed quickly by a force from the Seeker that he could feel in his bones. Not a templar’s abilities, but no less dangerous.

The man’s expression barely had time to register the shock and surprise before the life left his eyes courtesy of Fenris’s blade through his unguarded throat.

“Stop this!” The woman commanded, her voice shrill. She had turned from the ritual, and banged her staff on the ground, a circle of flames spreading out. Fenris rolled, he’d had plenty of experience dodging Hawke’s favorite element. The circle separated him from his allies, but it also separated her from her remaining guards.

“We are on the same side, truly.” The woman said, her staff held out protectively and her eyes narrowed. “I was a slave as well, but the Elder One set me free. He will grant me the power to remake our homeland, White Wolf. We could make it into a place of power, of strength, we could throw down those who have abused their slaves. We could enslave them because they are weak.”

The woman smiled, satisfied as a cat who had just eaten a rather fat bird. “We are strong, are we not? What has this world given you? We could take so much more.”

Once, he had thrown Hawke over for a similar promise from a demon. He would not be so weak again. He called forth the lyrium into a bright blaze and tightened his grip on his blade as the woman’s smile faded into a scowl.

“Have it your way.” She muttered darkly, lightning sparking from her staff. She whirled it so the blade at the end faced him and he felt his blood run cold. The blade of her staff was red, glowing, a sickening song coming from it. Red lyrium.

He dodged her first strike, blurring into nothing as she rained a storm in their circle. Behind him, beyond him, he could hear the Inquisition forces joining the battle. A rallying cry bursting out. He could not turn from the mage whirling dangerously, the red lyrium blade on her staff just out of reach of his lyrium marked skin.She lunged forward and he rolled past, spinning on his heel and bringing his blade down. She summoned a barrier to stop it, then jabbed her own staff through the barrier.

“The red lyrium would make you stronger, faster, a red wolf for the Elder One.” She taunted.

“I refuse to be the pet of any Magister.” Fenris spat, returning to the edge of the flames and circling.

“I am no pet!” She shrieked. “I am Calpernia, and when the Elder One prevails I will rule over Tevinter!”

“Why are the pretty ones always insane?” The altus’s voice rang out from beyond the flames. With a flare of magic, Calpernia raised the flames higher and rushed forward again. He feinted left, then rolled right. She saw what he was doing and changed course at the last second, the burning red lyrium sinking into his breastplate sickeningly, but not breaking through.

Fenris slashed forward, his blade catching the mage’s abdomen shallowy as she pulled back, the blood on her fingers. She looked at the red stains and smirked, smoke rising from the blood as she pulled power from it and looked at him, her eyes glowing red, sinking into his brain, pulling, singing, entrancing.

The altus cleaved through the flames with his staff and sent a blast of power toward Calpernia’s staff, the red lyrium bursting into tiny grains of shards. Her concentration broken, Fenris felt the blood magic retreating from his brain.

“Traitor!” Calpernia screeched, slamming her staff once more into the ground and sending Dorian flying, landing with a sick crunch several yards away. It was all the opening Fenris needed, her back presented to him as she approached the mage with righteous fury.

Fenris’s fist delved through her back and through her rib cage, gripping her beating heart. He solidified his fist and crushed it like an overripe fruit as the woman screamed, before sinking, lifeless, as Fenris withdrew his bloody arm.

“One could almost call that little trick, handy.” Dorian coughed, holding ribs that were surely broken. A small group of Venatori mages were surrounded, staffs dropping as they sank to their knees.

“Victoria!” A cry went up from the remaining slaves. Thirty, perhaps forty, where they had been seventy, easily. “Pro victoria alba lupus est Seheron! Pro Victoria Inquisition!”

“The Inquisition!” The inquisition forces cheers as Fenris allowed his eyes to sweep across the battlefield.

Fenris knelt down and pulled the mage up by his robes. “You are lucky I am used to poorly timed puns.” He said darkly. “Varric and Varania, do you see them?”

The words were no sooner out of his mouth than he saw Cassandra, her head bowed as she looked at the ground. As if she was praying. And before her, laying spread on the ground, Varric with Varania’s ear pressed to his chest, the soft blue glow of magic fading from around her fingers.

“Maker no.” Dorian whispered, pulling away. “ _No._ ”

Fenris felt something inside him wither in fear as he pushed forward, past the shouting crowds, over the bodies. A flash of images in his mind, flashing too quickly to pin down. Varric lounging in the Hanged Man, cheating to help Merrill win for a change. The only other person, besides Hawke, brave enough to visit him in his mansion the first year in Kirkwall. Lost in an Orlesian dungeon, shouting no when Hawke offered to turn herself over to the templars at the gallows, signing their marriage contract as his witness, examining the ring he bought for Hawke.

A proud uncle of the child Hawke carried. The only man Fenris would have considered as the child’s godfather.

He could not even make his mouth move to form the man’s name as he knelt beside Varania, her head lifting off his chest and her eyes moving to Fenris, mouth opening.

“You owe me a pint, Broody.” The dwarf’s voice was cracked and harsh, but there. And the crashing wave of relief was enough to almost make him collapse. “At least three or four, actually. Andraste’s lily white ass, my head hurts.”

“You almost bled out.” Varania rebuked. “You should be dead.”

“Your bedside manner is terrible.” Varric complained, lifting his fist to his closed eyes. “Maker’s ass, where’s Bianca? Is she okay?” He asked, his left hand reaching for the crossbow.

“He’s going to be fine.” Fenris remarked dryly, unable to prevent the grin on his face. Cassandra snorted in agreement and they all looked up to watch as the sun erupted fully over the horizon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Vos terminus hic. Vade!: You must end this. Go!  
> *Obsecro: Please  
> *Mitte me, et vadum. Vade.: Forget me and go. Go.


	57. Victory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varania reflects on victory and the times she has won and lost. Fenris resolves to keep his sister close.

Varania had not imbibed so much lyrium in such a short amount of time since she was a girl. Maker, perhaps she had never done so. She could feel the mana pulsing in her very teeth, which she clicked shut audibly as she leaned forward and took the dwarf’s wrist, capturing it in her shaking hands and pressing her fingers against his pulse, counting. She frowned, shaking her head. 

“I think it is still not right.” She said, dropping his wrist. Or perhaps her shaky hands were the problem. “His heart is beating abnormally, I think. Reyna should look at him.” 

“You are uncertain?” Fenris asked.

“I am woefully untrained. It could be nothing, if it is something she should be able to fix it.” Varania admitted. “He is unlikely to die at this moment, which is more than I can say for some of the others.” 

The dwarf was more concerned with his crossbow, rubbing at a scuff mark on the wood with a free hand and crooning to it like it was a child. Varania stood, rubbing at her knees and turning to look at the carnage. “I should go to assist the others. Then I would like to follow my daughter as soon as possible.” 

Fenris inclined his head in agreement, but it was the determined and impressed gaze of the Seeker that held her gaze. “May I ask, where did you learn combat? You are exceptionally skilled.” 

It was the lyrium answering, the dangerous feeling of invincibility and a loose tongue that rivaled the strongest drink. “The Munera.” She answered immediately, without thought. She had almost turned the whole way to the side before the two sharp intakes of breath made her think, truly think, about what she’d said. The Munera, the professional combat games for the Magister’s enjoyment that took place with alarming regularity. Where men clashed against each other and beasts for coin and fame. 

“Truly?” The altus was looking at her wide eyed, like he had just had a shiny toy drop into his lap. Varania’s skin crawled with disgust. “Fascinating!” 

Fenris said nothing, his brow furrowing silently. Varania took the chance to flee. 

 

She vanished among the slaves, those who still lived. The worst of the injured accepted her healing begrudgingly, refusing to meet her eyes. Varania’s healing was effective in the strictest sense. She could mend wounds and knit together bones, but she’d barely been able to follow Reyna as she’d explained the intricacies of healing a wound laced with magebane and her attempts to do so failed miserably. The woman had chirped brightly that it was fine, they’d just sew it up, but the failure roiled in her gut still. 

Most slaves hated mages. Varania could hardly blame them, truly. Particularly those that had suffered as these people had. Still, a voice hissed inside her angrily, Varania had suffered as well. A lad, a child still really, with his chin jutting out stubbornly and a piece of his bone sticking from his flesh was arguing that he would wait until a surgeon could be found. Varania crossed her arms over her chest impatiently, fighting the urge to launch into a much deserved tirade. 

She was tired. The lyrium boost was gone and she was frankly frightened to use another of the small buzzing blue vials. Her mana was ebbing, leaking away into exhaustion. She needed to see Sabina, to make sure… 

She could not follow that thought. Instead, she bit her lip and began again. “Child…” 

“Striga.” The boy said contemptuously, or as contemptuously as one could manage while their bone was on the wrong side of their skin. The boys lip was trembling with the pain. 

“You are free to walk around with that bone poking from your skin. I will tell you what will happen.” She said softly, eyes narrowed. “First, it will begin to burn. Then, desert flies will begin to swarm the wound to drink your blood. Then, it will begin to leak yellow pus and smell. Finally, the skin will blacken and there will be little choice but to chop that arm off. So if you are going to refuse my assistance, may I suggest fetching someone with a blade to chop it off now and save us the trouble of stopping to do so later.” 

The child paled under her withering stare and condescension before he finally thrust his arm forward. She took it a bit more roughly than she needed to before tamping her temper back and looking into the boy’s eyes. A child, she reminded herself. She had been frightened and young once, a desperate animal cornered and swiping with broken claws. 

“This will hurt for a moment, here.” She said softly, offering her other hand. “You may hold onto me.” 

“I would rather not.” The young man said evenly. Until she began to wrench the bone into place and he cried out, grasping her fingers till they ached. And she poured the very last of the lyrium fueled mana into the wound, feeling scraped raw on the inside, a white noise buzzing uselessly in her head as she straightened and pulled away, running one finger down the remaining scar.

“A fine battle wound.” She praised, looking up. “Bene fecistis.” 

“Thank you, healer.” The boy whispered softly, rubbing the tears from his eyes before he thought she could notice them. “Did you come with the white wolf?” He asked softly. 

“Yes. From the north.” She answered carefully, evasively. “My daughter and I. His wife took my child from the battle.”

“Why?” The child asked. Varania took a deep breath and prepared a non-committal answer. 

“She is my sister.” Fenris’s graveled voice came from behind her and the boy’s jaw dropped as he stepped into view, politely inclining his head toward the lad. “Are you well?” He asked neutrally. 

“Y...yes. Yes.” His eyes were as round as dinner plates. “I did not mean to call you striga, domina. I…”

“Striga?” Fenris repeated, voice low and dangerous. 

“It is fine. Go along.” Her lips felt numb as the child nearly ran away with Fenris glaring after him. That would spread like wildfire across the slaves and she would be angry, if she had any energy left to fuel her anger. “He did not mean it. You should not have told him I was your sister, if the Magisters knew…” 

“Do you intend to return to Minrathous, then?” He asked archly. “Is that why what the Magisters know would matter?” 

Well, she supposed that was fair. She rubbed her forehead with the heel of her palm. “As you wish then. Shout it from the rooftops.” 

“He should not have called you a witch.” He glared still after the disappearing child. 

“I am a witch.” She stated neutrally. “And I have been called worse. What do you need?” 

“We need to leave. Inquisition scouts say the Tevinter army and the Nevarran army have began to move. We are taking the slaves that wish to follow and going to Nevarra before the Tevinter troops arrive.” Fenris shifted anxiously, scanning the horizon. “Is there a particular horse you would like to ride?” 

The question didn’t make sense to her at first, rolling around her head like a ball in an empty home, dulling the panic at the thought of the Tevinter army. While she thought he continued to talk, pointing to the cages that had been shorn of their bars, made into carts instead, free and open to the air. The Seeker was trying to hitch one of the Venatori horses to the cart, glaring at the rigging. 

“I… I cannot ride.” She said slowly. Had he hit his head? Had anyone checked? Should she check? He stared back at her, then swallowed. 

“My apologies. I had assumed, because I could when I awoke with these…” He trailed off, uncertain. 

And she laughed. She couldn’t help it, the bubble of hysteria rising joyously in her throat. His expression shifted to bewilderment, then irritation. “Fasta vass, why are you laughing?” 

“I was a  _ seamstress _ .” She said in between the laughter. “Why would anyone have taught me to ride?” 

“Perhaps you should walk.” He threatened, and it was such an empty one that she laughed even more. 

“She can ride in the cart with me.” The dwarf said as he walked past, looking rather pale still but with a ready smile. “I have questions for the new story I’m going to write. Sequel to Tale of the Champion.” 

“You are quickly exhausting my gratitude that you survived.” Fenris muttered, but nobody could miss the smirk tugging his lips upward. 

“Broody, I didn’t know you cared.” Varric said, pressing his hand over his heart. 

“Hawke would have been put out.” He drawled at the dwarf’s retreating back. Varania smiled softly. 

“Only her?” Varania asked. 

“You will ride with me. I suspect it is dangerous to allow the dwarf too close to you.” Fenris muttered. 

“I’m very reticent.” She fiddled with her sleeve, examining the blood splashed up her arms. 

“He is very persuasive.” He warned seriously. “If he asks you to play cards, I would suggest not doing so unless you have gambled seriously. Or be so atrocious he takes pity on you.” 

 

Fenris picked the mount instead, a sturdy thing the color of roasted chestnuts. She could see spur marks down the animals hindquarters, old scars of a whip. She tsked softly, touching the animals mane gently. It turned its deep chocolate eyes to hers and stared at her sadly. Varania always had a soft spot for sad eyes. “It is alright.” She said gently. 

“Would you prefer the Seeker help you mount?” He asked, his eyes fastened to the saddle, tone careful. 

“I do not believe it matters.” She answered as the horse nudged its large head against her shoulder. “Does it?” 

“Perhaps it does not.” He looked torn for a moment, doing the last of the buckles slowly. Reyna had been much faster, her fingers flying at the speed of magic. “I remember… you did not like to be touched.” 

Her throat constricted and she stared into the gentle eyes of the horse, touching it’s soft sleek coat with her palm. “It was a long time ago. I did not conceive a child without being touched. I would not like to be treated like a cracked vase.” 

He nodded. It was not enough of an answer. “You remember?” She asked. “What happened, you remember it?” 

“Not all of it.” He looked at her then, she could see it from the corner of her eye, but she did not meet his. “We can speak of it if you wish. If you do not want to, I will not push.” 

She nodded, still refusing to meet his eyes. He offered his arms patiently and she took a deep, steadying breath before turning and allowing him to lift her into the saddle. The horse skittered nervously and they both placed a hand on its neck, her palm resting on the silken coat only a space above his own. “Facilis.” Fenris said easily, green eyes latching onto the horses. 

“Do you believe Sabina is recovering?” She asked without meaning to, her words out before she could withdraw them. 

“Reyna has never failed me. She will not fail you or Sabina.” He reassured, climbing gracefully into the saddle behind her. “You will see.” 

“So far all I have seen is the two of you rush headlong into danger repeatedly.” She couldn’t help the churlish tone. He chuckled under his breath. 

“That is also accurate.” And she could picture Leto’s boyish grin, sly and overly satisfied with himself. She could not resist the urge to peer over her shoulder and check. It was not the same grin, but a shadow of it nonetheless was present in the small smirk. “We must ride beside the dwarf. I need to prevent the spread of his stories.” 

He was not fooling her, and she raised an eyebrow to let him know it before straightening and staring ahead. He reached around her and grabbed the reins, snapping them gently and setting the great beast into motion. Varania clutched the pummel of the saddle anxiously. “Women are not allowed to fight in the Munera.” Fenris said softly. 

“I did not fight in the Munera.” She bit her lip. “I assisted the fighters, healed their wounds from a distance, hindered their opponents. I asked to be taught to fight in exchange.” 

She could still hear the roar of the stadium, smell the dirt, dust, and blood. Taste the bitter tang of sweat that poured down her face as she watched from her perch in the shadows. “You assisted them with cheating?” Fenris asked, dismayed. “For coin, I assume, in addition to fighting lessons?” 

“I had very few other options.” She muttered. Really, it had been between that, starving, or whoring. Whoring may have been easier, but she had still been a feral cat then, unable to be soothed or touched.

“If you had been caught…” He began incredulously. 

“I was.” She interrupted. “By a Magister who owned several fighting teams in Qarinus. He was so impressed with my work, he hired me to attend his team there. Although officially I was listed as his tailor.” 

She could feel him shaking his head in frustration. “Were you ever actually a tailor?” 

“Of course I was.” She snapped indignantly. “I used my wages to start my own business when Sabina was born.” 

And she had done well. She wasn’t rich, not by any means, but she had not expected to be so. She had enough coin to feed them, to afford the tiny and clean apartments, to afford a treat every so often of shaved ice with flavored syrup for Sabina. She had even once bought a book for a ludicrous sum of money, one that was strapped to the horse Hawke had taken off on. It was not a brilliant life, it had not always been easy, but it had been her own, fashioned by her own two hands. She felt a rising swell of grief for it.

“Danarius used to attend the Munera often. He enjoyed the bloodsports.” Fenris began haltingly, hesitant. “I attended with him.” 

“I know.” She said quietly. “I saw you, often.” He had been impossible to miss, his shock of white hair that had once been as dark as Sabina’s, the white lines etched into his skin, the impassive face as he waited at careful attention. He did not notice her, there was no reason for him to do so, but she had watched him avidly, hungrily. Several times, she had considered running to him and gripping his shoulders, shaking him. “Danarius entered you into the games several times. You always won.” 

 

_ The sun was scorching, sweat running in rivulets down her back, sticking the rough cotton to her skin. She pushed her damp, dirty hair from her face and narrowed her eyes at the black clad figure in front of her, watched as a man’s heart fell from his fingers. The man had an air of nonchalance as he looked into the Magister’s box, waiting for approval.  _

_ That man had been a boy once, a boy who enjoyed music, whose handsome face had captivated every girl he came into contact with, a boy who had loved her ferociously.  _

_ When Varania followed his gaze up, she saw Danarius was clapping slowly, but not looking at Leto. Instead, he was staring down at her from where she perched among the fighters, her dirty red hair like a flag. And she should have looked away, that would have been the smart thing to do.  _

_ That was not Leto, not in there. Leto was dead, mother was dead. Varania was alone and there was no reason to do the smart thing any longer. So instead she raised her eyes defiantly to the Magister and let her green eyes burn back without blinking, until he looked away. She smiled, victoriously. A hollow victory, born from the death of everything and everyone she loved, but a victory.  _

 

“It must have been painful for you.” Fenris said slowly. Varania blinked the picture away, staring straight ahead. 

“I believe that was the point.” She stated unequivocally. “He knew I was there. I believe he always knew where I was. It was my punishment for lying. For escaping. For being beyond his reach. All he could do was let me see what my freedom had cost. He had no other hold, no power over me.” 

“Until he did.” Fenris said slowly. Varania frowned. “Until Sabina.” 

“Until Sabina.” She repeated listlessly. 

_ Danarius was in her door and Sabina was underneath the rickety kitchen table, her constant babble falling silent. And Varania had not won, she had only delayed the inevitable. Her heart froze.    _

“I am glad he is dead.” She had never been more savagely glad of anything until she had slid her blade into Corix. 

“I am as well.” He answered. 

 

They stopped once halfway through the journey, long enough to drink and rest her wobbly legs before they were up again. She fought against her fluttering eyelids and the nodding of her head until she could fight no more, allowing herself to droop against the steady rhythm of the horse. 

“Broody, she’s asleep on her feet.” The dwarf said gently from far away. “We can stop and put her in the cart. My new friends and I can make room.” 

“It is no bother to keep her here.” Fenris replied steadily. “I would prefer it.” 

“You know, I am going to want to hear this story eventually. Was it an epic reunion? Tears and confessions? Apologies accompanied by promises of familial devotion?” Varric asked. 

“Perhaps you should ask Hawke.” Fenris remarked.

“Taciturn as always.” The dwarf grumbled. “One last question, her little girl…” 

“Sabina.” Fenris corrected. “And yes, that was the reason. For all of it.” 

“Shit.” Varric sighed. “Shouldn’t have let our experience with Bartrand color the whole world.” 

“To be fair, it was a terrible first example for me of sibling bonding in difficult moments.” Fenris remarked wryly. “I will not make the same mistake again.” 

“No, you and Hawke always manage to make new and interesting mistakes.” Varric sighed, then his voice frightened. “You know, Varric would be a good name for a boy or a girl.”

“No.” 

“I nearly died!” 

“ _ Nearly. _ ” 

“It’s a lovely name.” The dwarf huffed, and Fenris laughed behind her. Then all was silent. 

 

“Varania.” He whispered, jostling her slightly. “We are nearly there. You must wake up.” 

One hand rose to her aching head and she opened her eyes wide enough to see the blood covering her sleeves. She stopped, staring at it while her mind spun, whirling. 

“Sabina cannot see me like this. I am covered in blood.” Her voice shook. “She will be frightened.” 

“Can you say it’s something else? Tomato sauce?” Varric offered. “Red wine disaster?” 

“We will fix it.” Fenris acknowledged, pointing to the horizon. “Look, that is Nevarra.” 

She looked up, fixing on the tents in the distance. “Wait!” She cried, turning in the saddle in a way that made the poor horse whicker anxiously. “I want to walk.” 

Suddenly, this was important. She would walk away from Tevinter on her own, her head held high. Fenris pulled the horse to a stop, his confusion evident in every line of his features. “Stop, fasta vass, you’re going to fall off.” 

“Then help me!” She exploded impatiently. With a long suffering sigh, Fenris slipped gracefully from the horses back and held his arms up to her, circling her waist and bringing her to the ground so quickly her numb legs nearly buckled beneath her. She stood, shaky and new, a colt on trembling limbs she didn’t quite understand. He looked at her, back at the tents in the distance, then to her. Something dawned on his face, as if he understood how important this was, to freely leave this blasted place. On the ground, she could see the Silent Plains had ended long ago, there was scraggly grass beneath her feet. Harsh and hardy, clinging to life. Fenris inclined his head in the direction of the tents, wrapping the reins around his gauntleted hand, as if to cede the lead to her. 

She turned away from Tevinter without a final glance and looked past the Inquisition scouts leading them, to the tents bursting brightly in shades of crimson and orange, with that ridiculous eyeball fluttering in the distance. The Inquisition, a frightening name, but by all accounts a decent sort of religious fanatics. 

“Is there a problem?” The Seeker had pulled alongside them as she stared. 

“No.” Varania said, shaking her head to clear it. “No, I wished to walk.” 

And she surprised herself by taking the first step, then another. The third was easier, her legs loosening, feeling returning. A horn sounded in the distance, she could see a lookout waving from hastily erected towers. They drew closer, until she could make out the beehive atmosphere of constant activity, soldiers engaged in sparring, smoke from cook fires, a sharp smell of herbs drying. Soldiers were stopping now to stare as they came closer, gawking at the malnourished former slaves in the carts that used to be cages, sporting healing injuries of all sorts. Some broke away, hopefully to begin building tents, finding blankets, warm food and…

She should not have been surprised by the woman who pushed her way violently thought a gaggle of soldiers, her dark hair freshly braided neatly over her shoulder, dressed in a clean tunic and pants. Varania was concerned that she was alone, but she was grinning, laughing. The sound carried as she took off across the distance, scrambling across the scrubby undergrowth, careless of the brambles snagging on her trousers and boots. Fenris dropped the horses reins just in time to catch the small woman in his arms, smiling down at her. 

“I told you I would return.” He said softly, just before she gripped his breastplate and tugged it down, forcing his lips to her level and locking hers to his. Varania looked away, embarrassed as the freed slaves stared at them with wide eyes. Then, remarkably, they cheered. 

This caused her to pull away, startled, her eyes sliding to Varric and his rowdy cartmates and the noise but landing eventually on Varania instead. She let go of Fenris, heedless of the blush spreading up the back of his neck and threw her arms around Varania’s neck instead, with no respect for boundaries, pushing her lips to her ear. 

“Sabina’s fever is almost gone.” She whispered. 

Instinctually, Varania wrapped her arms tight around the other woman, tears stinging like pin pricks in her eyes. Varania did not even care, she could have kissed the woman too in front of everyone. There were no words, her throat clogged tight with gratitude. 

“She’s asleep again, but she was awake not an hour ago asking for you.” Reyna continued, untangling herself from Varania’s stiff arms and taking her cold hand with her own. “Are you coming?” 

Together, they stepped into Nevarra with their heads held high. Varania did not look back. 


	58. Rumors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric Tethras is a storyteller, a rogue, and a scoundrel. Maria Cadash is the charming, deadly Inquisitor. They are both subject to entirely more rumors than they would like.

Varric called it the “Battle of the Silent Plains.” It was appropriate and had the hallmarks of a literary success. Everybody liked a story which ended with the wronged and wretched rising with a vengeance to stop a great evil. He may try his hand at writing in verse instead of prose, something about the epicness of the moment inspired verse. He'd ask Maria when he saw her and get her opinion.

His side twinged in remembrance, a reminder he almost hadn't made it out with the rest of the scrappy underdogs. He'd almost…

He’d caught Hawke’s eye when she embraced Varania over the elf’s shoulder. She’d let her blue eyes turn towards him, blazing emotion. She'd found the letter then and read it herself. He expected as much. When she pulled away from the other woman, Varric had grinned and shrugged after her, then simply reclined back against the edge of the cart he couldn’t wait to get off of.  

“Is that her?” One of his new friends whispered, the former slaves he’d been regaling with tales for hours. “She is lovely, for a human.”

Well, that about summed it up. “Yes, that is the Lady Hawke. Champion of Kirkwall on her own merits. I shit you not, my friends, that woman took down the Qunari Arishok with a snap of her fingers.”

“And they are married? Truly, in the eyes of the Maker?” The woman whose eyes he had first met at the Venatori camp was still alive and had stuck to his side like glue. Truly married with a bun in the proverbial oven, he thought about saying.

“I was there in the flesh. They were married by the King of Ferelden in thanks for slaying a particularly nasty dragon that was roosting…”

Cassandra scoffed and rubbed her temple, but didn’t dare interrupt him, not when his audience was enraptured. He thought, in spite of herself, Cassandra was enjoying the story as well.

The camp was barely ordered chaos. Many of his newest traveling companions when slack jawed at the sight of it. And he had to admit, it was an impressive. There was a Dalish elf in the corner playing cards with a Qunari mercenary. A group of chantry sisters rushed in like squawking hens with blankets and herbs and Makers knew what else. A trio of dwarves were trying to steady a shaky watch tower.

It reminded him so much of _her_ he could have sang in relief.

“Ladies and gentlemen, friends and compatriots!” He announced, standing up in the cart. “May I be most honored to announce the victors of the Battle of the Silent Plains! These brave idiots took up weapons and held the Venatori at bay for a whole night while awaiting Inquisition forces.”

Fenris smirked from his place beside the other cart, shaking his head ruefully. “It was not a whole night.”

Already excited murmurs were being whispered around them and Varric winked. “With you, Broody, time lasts twice as long.”

He jumped from the cart, which quickly ruined his witty retort. Only the grip of one of the elves stopped him from falling straight over as the remaining blood in his body protested to the change in position. Fenris swore and gripped his shoulder tight, yelling something he could barely understand over the roaring in his ears. That he’d be back, maybe? Andraste’s ass…

Fenris pushed him into a tent and they almost ran into Hawke. She was continuing to beam, hadn’t stopped really. Sickening. And sweet, if he was being honest. “I’m assuming they need some healing? Are you both alright?”

“I am well. Varric is not.” Fenris replied succinctly. “He fell in battle, Varania assisted him to the best of her ability.”

“Blade between his ribs, left side.” Varania muttered from the other side of the tent. She was kneeling on the hard ground next to a cot, her eyes wet as she gazed desperately at the child sleeping there, the dark curls spilling over the edge of the thin fabric. Varania wrenched her eyes away with a considerable effort to look at Hawke. “I believe it caught an artery. He bled for some time before our attention was called to the wound.”

Hawke sighed, rubbing her forehead to erase the lines that had sprouted into existence almost immediately. “Right then, shirt off Varric. Let’s see how bad it was.”

“I will be just outside, attempting to do...something.” Fenris said, retreating.

“He’s just jealous of all the chest hair, isn’t he?” Varric joked, tugging off the leather jacket. The sleeve stuck to his arm and he’d forgotten that blade. He winced, peeling the stiff leather away. Hawke only smiled slightly at the quip. Now that the jacket was off, she had zeroed in on where the wound had been. It was fairly obvious, with the pronounced blood stain. She sighed, her own quick hands reaching out to peel the still wet fabric from his side. He slipped the shirt off, standing bare before her and Varania, who was examining her own handiwork critically.

“Well, you’re going to add an impressive scar to your collection.” Hawke said, tipping her head to the side. “How much blood do you reckon he lost, Varania?”

“Would you wish me to be honest?” The other woman asked. Hawke waited until Varania sighed. “Almost too much. It was a close thing.”

Hawke paled and those lines on her forehead reemerged with a vengeance. They had not been there when he first met her, he was sure. “Waffles. It was fine.” Varric soothed. Varania made a noise that expressed her quiet disapproval.

“Do you not know you’re supposed to lie to pregnant women? Tell them it’s normal to crave frog legs and that crying over spilled ale is a perfectly reasonable reaction.” Varric asked, not even bothering to hide his pique.

“Apologies. I was unaware of that particular piece of southern culture.” Varania actually smiled as she turned back to Sabina, ignoring them completely to watch the girl sleep.

“Andraste’s knickers, Varric. Sit down.” She instructed. Varric followed her direction and sat. Hawke did so as well, her fingers tingling with that beautiful and warm light blue light. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath and he felt her magic swirling, whispering, searching. The untouched wound on his arm drew closed, he felt something in his chest loosen, an ache in his back from the damn cart dull and disappear.

“I read your letter.” Hawke said as she poked around his body with her magic. “Can I put it on the record that you’re an ass?”

“It does take one to know one, doesn’t it?” He asked, and this was familiar. This was them bullshitting by his fireplace, mugs of cheap ale in between them and him cleaning Bianca’s gears while Hawke drew meaningless patterns in the fireplace with her fingers, still joyfully and selfishly pleased with her own magic. “It certainly was not addressed to you, Hawke.”

“You better count yourself lucky for that. If Fenris had the nerve to leave me _that_ as his last words I’d…”

He can’t help himself. “Hawke, as if Broody is ever going to get the last word.”

She drew back, stunned out of her ire at the barb and her lips twitched before she could help herself. Then she was laughing, one hand pressed to her mouth to muffle the sound and her eyes flicking to the sleeping child. Her shoulders shook with the effort and he grinned at her, as roguish and charming as he could be. Then the tears started.

“Waffles, I’m fine.” He said, opening his arms wide. “Everything is absolutely fine.”

“I was all by myself!” She exclaimed, dropping her hand from her mouth. “Not knowing if any of you were going to survive. And then I find _that_ and how could I possibly have given that to her, knowing it was my fault? And I’m having a _baby_ , Varric.”

She stressed the word in a manner that was both shocked and outraged and almost wondrous. A baby, a little broody baby. Impossible and delightful. Maria leaning over the stone battlements, gesturing to the couple stealing kisses in the courtyard and saying that life went on no matter what happened.

“You’re going to get as big as a druffalo.” Varric grinned slyly at the shocked expression on Varania’s face when she turned back around, but Hawke was laughing again through her gleaming tears, falling into his arms. “How long until we meet our little fledgling, Hawke?”

Hawke’s mouth worked furiously, words tumbling quickly. “I don’t know. A week or two longer than six months? The only place I could think of to go is…”

He interrupted her before she could continue. “I sincerely hope you’re going to say Skyhold, Hawke.”

“Would your Inquisitor have me back?” She asked. “I’m a _disaster_ , Varric. I’m cursed.”

Maybe, he thought. Most likely, really. A perfect storm of bad luck, impulsive decisions, and  complicated morality. “Maria would have you in a heartbeat as long as you’d like, Hawke.”

From the corner of his eye he saw Varania tilt her head introspectively as she turned back to Sabina. “That is the name you  said when you fell. Maria.”

He ignored Hawke’s reproving glare as she fished his letter, neatly folded, from the pocket of her breeches with the gleaming, golden Cadash necklace twisted on top. “Tell her.” She ordered as she pressed them into his hands.

It was bad when Hawke was giving sensible relationship advice.

 

_Princess,_

_We’re out of Tevinter by the breadth of my chest hair. Big news when we get back that you’re not going to believe. I’m bringing back Hawke and three elves extra to Skyhold so I’d start Ruffles with the rooming rearrangements now. They’re calling this the Battle of the Silent Plains, courtesy of yours truly. I’ll tell you the whole story._

_I’ve been a nug-brained idiot. I should have told you before I left. The whole world’s mad and even Hawke thinks I’ve been a fool to put this off, like we have a certain future. I love you. I’ll tell you myself when I get back because this is a shit substitute._

_Always yours,_

_Varric_

 

“I’m sorry Serah, I only got one bird left. It’s for emergencies. We sent the rest off with reports and casualty lists right after the battle.” The scout minding the birdcages stuttered nervously. “When they return, I can send your letter out after they rest.”  

“Don’t worry about it, kid.” Varric sighed, scratching at his stubble.

“But it is for the Inquisitor!” The girl blurted. “And it’s from _you_.”

He barely refrained from rolling his eyes. “I’ll send it when we get to Cumberland. It can wait a bit longer.”

“She sent a letter for you, Serah, after we sent a report back that you’d gone into the Silent Plains.” The scout twisted and grabbed a scroll, spinning quickly back to face it and holding it out with a blush coloring her cheeks. “Nobody read it, I promise.”

He was certain Nightingale had, but didn’t tell the girl. Instead he winked and sauntered off with the scroll clutched in his hand. He didn’t pause to read it until he was outside the tent he was, regrettably, sharing with Dorian.

 

_Varric,_

_I had hoped that you wouldn’t actually have to step foot in Tevinter, but I should learn to lower my expectations of how well things work out, shouldn’t I? I know the troops there told you that something is going on, and I truly hope Dorian is wrong about what it is. I’ve never wished him more wrong in my life. I did not sign up to fight two archdemons, Varric._

_I know I really didn’t sign up to fight one, but that’s a moot point._

_Bull has organized some sort of Qunari joint operation and I’m leaving for the Storm Coast tomorrow. Cole and Sera are having another spat, so I’m taking Cole with me. Vivienne and Blackwall are coming too. I’m hoping to use Cole’s hat as an umbrella and stay drier than we did the last time we were out there. It’s a good thing Cassandra and Dorian are with you, their eyeliner would run if they were coming. Tell them I miss them too._

_Come back to Skyhold in one piece, please. I miss you._

_Maria_

_P.S. Sera solved that problem you had out in the Bannorn for me. Don’t ask questions, maybe she’ll forget and spare you the disgusting details. The guild is absolutely terrified of dealing with me and I’m having a shit ton more fun messing with them than I thought I would. Should I count this as an early birthday present?_

 

He chuckled, folding the letter tight and slipping it into the coat pocket over his heart where her necklace rested, warmed by his skin. “Now, what do we have here?” Hawke’s voice dripped with sweetness as he turned, catching sight of her holding onto the hand of a small child with what could only be called a tumult of unruly dark curls. “Sabina, this is what a dwarf who is up to something looks like.”

The child giggled, pressing herself even closer to Hawke’s leg in a playful shyness, bright eyes flickering to him. It was disconcerting to see those green eyes in a child’s face, disconcertingly innocent and vulnerable, playful and endearing. Well, at least he’d get a chance to get used to it. “Up to something fun.” He whispered conspiratorially, winking at the child. “It’s good you’ve finally decided to get out of bed and join us, Miss Sabina.”

“We are looking for Lucia.” The child said. “She’s a mabari.”

“Well, I know exactly where you’d find her. She stopped and asked me for directions to the sweets and good food earlier. I’d be more than happy to join your search team, little Bean. I’ll even nick some of the sweets for you.” Varric fell in beside Hawke as the woman shook her head in exasperation. “I assume you’re feeling much better?”

“Much better.” Hawke confirmed, a silent prayer in her voice. “A day of rest made a huge difference. Maybe one more, and we can head out. Fenris is anxious to leave, he doesn’t trust being so close to the border.”

“Can’t imagine why, Hawke.” Varric pointed out smugly. “Can’t have anything to do with the bun in the oven, can it?”

“Oh, we had a full family meeting. It was decided unanimously that if we ever end up in Tevinter again, it’ll be too soon. All current and future family members will be banned from traveling further north than the Free Marches.” Hawke declared airily.

“Yes, and you always listened to your mother, Hawke.” Varric grinned as Hawke frowned, looking down at Sabina.

“You’ll always listen to me, right Bina?” Hawke asked.

“No.” The girl answered sweetly with a quick and bright smile.

 

They began the journey south two days after stumbling into the Inquisition camp. Varric’s unsent letter to Maria still in his journal, despite his efforts to delay until a bird returned. Fenris would not be deterred, scowling so hard at his back that Varric had thought he was perhaps about to feel that fisting trick up close and personal. “Hawke is with child, you are recovering from severe injuries, and I cannot rest this close to Tevinter with Varania and Sabina to worry about.” He snipped.

“I am quite capable of managing my own affairs.” Varania reasoned stubbornly, Sabina resting against her legs as they waited. “I did so for a number of years.”

“Stop bickering.” Hawke ordered, rubbing her stomach and looking distinctly queasy. “If I have to deal with this the whole way to Skyhold, I’m staying right here.”

“I will tie you to your horse.” Fenris threatened, sweeping his burning gaze back to Varric. “All of you.”

Cassandra laughed, the traitor. And Varric conceded the battle rather than find out exactly how long Broody would give him before trying him to the saddle. “Who would you like to ride with, Bean?” He asked with a grin, sweeping his arm at the assembled company. “You get first choice.”

“Patruus.” She said immediately. Varania sighed, shaking her head. Varric was just about to ask exactly who that way when Varania pointed a finger at Fenris.

“Do not feed her sweets the entire trip. You will spoil her appetite.” She warned, turning to Hawke. “May I accompany you?”

“Only if you don’t mind that I may toss chunks once I’m on top of this damned horse.” Hawke grumbled.

“Language.” Fenris reminded her mildly, shooting a rare smile to Sabina.

Hawke’s eyes sparked murderously, but Varania was already unwrapped a piece of ginger candy she’d plucked from the Inquisition stores and handing it out to Hawke.

“If you wish, I would share.” Cassandra offered. Varric was suddenly very glad to be a dwarf. Nobody would be asking him to share.

“With all that armor?” Dorian asked skeptically. “She’s likely to burn herself when the sun gets high. Or cut herself. It would make more sense to ride with me if Hawke cannot…”

“No!” Varania exclaimed, rather too loudly. Hawke flinched back a bit at the noise, the candy already in her mouth. The elven woman’s shoulders had coiled with tension and her face had gone rigid. “I will ride with Reyna and assist her.” Varania declared, at that point to no one in particular. She said a few words in Tevene that had Sabina scurrying to her side. Varania lifted the child and Varric tore his eyes away to look at Dorian. The man actually looked as if he’d been slapped. Stupid.

“Sparkler, stop it.” Varric whispered.

“I have…” Dorian began to protest.

“It has nothing to do with you, you ass.” Varric hissed. He’d seen that expression before, knew it.

“The dwarf is right.” Cassandra said quietly, swinging into her saddle. “It has nothing to do with you. Do not push it.”

“What is it then?” Dorian asked, voice small, genuinely lost and even a bit concerned.

“Think about it, Sparkler. You’ll get there.” Varric said quietly, eyes cast down to his own saddle. He cast his eyes to the back of Fenris’s neck as he stared after Varania, saw the brittle iron of the stance. Broody knew. Varric couldn’t decide if that was a good or bad thing.

 

_Princess,_

_I didn’t manage to send the last letter. Looks like I’m not going to send this one either, not for lack of trying. We made it the whole way to the outskirts of the capital city of Nevarra and I’ve been waiting for one of Nightingale’s people to come up to us like they did last time we were here, but we’ve got nothing. That either means your people are busy or you’ve pulled them for something. Or, that you’re dead._

_Yeah, unfortunately, some drunken sod was telling a whole tavern you were assassinated by the Qunari. I wouldn’t be half as worried if I didn’t know already that you were actually supposed to be meeting with the Qunari to do an alliance. I’m sincerely hoping Bull didn’t get you killed and I can laugh about this later._

_I’d feel better if one of your people showed up, then I could just ask. Hawke keeps saying it’s just a rumor. She’s trying to argue with Broody to stay and investigate it, but he’s rather insistent that we need to move on. Hawke managed to talk him into giving us a day to try and track down an agent, but no such luck. We’re moving on first light._

_You promised to try not to do anything crazy. Meeting the Qunari was a crazy thing to do, Curly had to have told you that before you went._

_I’m worried sick about you. I know Nightingale can find me if she puts her mind to it._

_I told you in the last letter, I’ll tell you again in this one. I love you._

_Varric_

 

He sighed, closing his journal. From across the campfire, he saw Hawke grimace and shoot a glare at Fenris. Fenris felt it and turned her scorching gaze back on her.

“Fasta vass, woman…”

“Language.” Hawke hissed, jerking her head at Sabina’s head bent low over Cassandra’s sword and shield as the Seeker cleaned them.

“The Inquisitor is certainly not dead. If she were, I believe it would be greater news than one drunk in a tavern. The sooner we get back to Skyhold, the sooner we can ascertain that these rumors are false.” Fenris explained patiently for the sixth time. And there was certainly a good amount of sense to it.

“It’s alright, Hawke.” Varric reassured.

“It is not.” Hawke muttered. “He is being awfully bossy.”

“Bossiness aside,” Dorian began, waving away the argument. “Do we really think the Qunari could take Inquisitor Cadash down when an avalanche could not? Or a nightmare demon?”

“The Maker is with her.” Cassandra mumbled devoutly. That did not reassure him as much as it should have.

“What is she like?” Sabina asked, slipping to her mother’s side and smiling across the fire. “Does she have a sword?”

“She does actually. She only uses it on special occasions. When she’s required to smite dragons or impress kings and queens, that sort of thing. For the day-to-day she uses a bow.” Varric leaned back, already thinking of a wild story to spin.

“Like yours?” Sabina asked. Hawke laughed despite herself.

“Bean, there is no bow like mine. This is Bianca, say hello.” He said playfully.

“Hello Bianca.” Sabina giggled.

“Bianca and I once took out a whole nest of spiders the size of horses. All by ourselves.” Varric grinned. “I was walking up the wounded coast…”

He was already spinning the tale to the wide green eyes of the girl and managed to ignore Fenris’s snide aside. “As if Varric ever ventured to the Wounded Coast on his own.”

 

It took about a week to make it back to Cumberland. And despite the fact that the weather was atrocious, a cold sleet that had conquered and flattened Sabina’s untamable curls (but not Hawke’s sunny disposition, which seemed to be returning in force with an ebb in her nausea), Varric felt warm. Even if he couldn’t find an Inquisition agent, he’d certainly find time to grab a Carta member. Even Broody couldn’t find a ship to leave immediately, no matter how he bullied.

They dismounted as they trailed along a section of inns. Nothing too fancy, for fear of drawing the precisely wrong sort of attention to the three and a half mages they had in their party.

Varric found it first, a tavern that looked so familiar his heart ached with fond memories of home. If the sign hadn’t been a clucking chicken, it would have been perfect. The Hanged Man, in all its glory.

“Ah, the smell of old ale.” Fenris remarked disdainfully. Hawke slipped past him happily, tossing back her sodden hood. The atmosphere was warm and lively, and, be still his heart, there was an old grouchy man playing bartender. Varric felt the urge to shout for Corff.

“Any rooms? We need...at least two. More would be better.” Hawke chirped cheerfully, pulling her coin purse from her waist.

“We don’t serve your lot here.” The man sneered, rolling his eyes over the staff slung from Hawke’s shoulders. “Don’t need no trouble.”

“Do I look like trouble?” Hawke purred, leaning over the bar. “There’s an extra gold in it for you.”

Fenris had tightened beside her, one hand inching to Hawke’s lower back and holding itself there as if to shove her away in a moment.

“How many of your lot?” The man growled, surly.

“Two.” Hawke lied flippantly. “Me and my companion with the impressive mustache. We’ve also got a dwarf and a child and our very own Seeker of Truth.”

“You’re the oddest Dalish I’ve ever seen.” The man eyed Fenris skeptically.

“I’ve heard that before, yes.” Broody answered, biting the words harshly. “If you do not wish our coin, we will find another inn.”

“Don’t get hasty.” The man grumbled. “Three silver for a bed and breakfast per person. Six silver for the dwarf and one for the child. Two gold for you and the other one and you stay in your rooms.”

Fenris opened his mouth to say something, but Hawke was already counting out the coins. Varric shook his head in disgust. “Should have negotiated a bit.” He reprimanded.

“I’m starving. And soaked, not in the good way either. If I don’t eat soon I’m going to start saying some very not nice things.” Hawke grinned and began ordering stew and bread. Varric shrugged off his soaked coat, taking the keys the barman threw on the counter. Four different rooms, thank the Maker. They could shut Sparkler in his own and get a good night’s sleep.

“You have got to be _shitting_ me.”

The voice was instantly familiar, all sultry promises and smoke. The words were slurred unusually, but still. He looked up, searching for the source and found his face buried in a set of dark skinned breasts barely contained by her white tunic.

“Bela!” Hawke trilled in joy, but Rivaini was clutching onto his shoulders and shaking him.

“Good to see you too, Rivaini.” Varric said, trying to disentangle himself from her long arms.

“You giant, dwarven, ASS.” Isabela growled, nearly stumbling as she pushed away. Then she caught sight of Hawke and she was smiling, holding out her arms wide. “Give me some sugar, sweetness.”

“I’m actually pleased to see you are still exactly the same.” Fenris’s lips quirked upwards in amusement. “Drunk in the cheapest tavern you can find.”

Bela’s eyes swivelled to him, then burned back to Varric. “I s’pose you haven’t heard, then? Well, of course you wouldn’t. I should of known.” She shook her head in amusement, laughter sparkling in her eyes. “Oh she’s gonna murder you.”

“Rivaini, you’re making exactly zero sense.” Varric looked behind him, staring at the blank faces of Varania, Cassandra, and Dorian. Sabina was hiding behind Fenris and her mother, staring with rapt fascination at Isabela’s gleaming golden jewelry.

“You’re dead. On the list of casualties from that scuffle in Tevinter which I’m sure I can blame on you two.” She paused to glare at Hawke and Fenris. “Except, for a ghost, you’re damn well solid as ever. You may even be more tempting than you were.”

“I’m sorry, he’s what?” Dorian asked.

He didn’t have time to think, to respond. The only clear thought he could latch into was the word Inquisition, he’d been on the list of Inquisition casualties and that meant…

“Who is going to murder him, exactly?” Hawke asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

He could have guessed the answer at the same time he heard a glass crash to the floor on the far side of the bar. He jerked his head in the direction of the noise just in time to see a small dwarven woman stand, her chocolate curls a mess and her grey eyes exactly as welcome as the rain outside.

“That is Bea Cadash.” Isabela whispered too loudly. “I brought her here because it reminded me so much of the Hanged Man and…” Isabela’s voice trailed off and she pressed the heel of her hand to her eyes. “Maker, Varric. I ordered the good stuff in your honor you bastard.”

“Language.” Sabina scolded gleefully.


	59. Ashes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beatrix and Varric have an argument. Fenris fears losing his fragile family to Vengeance and Varania reassures him. The Champion of Kirkwall rises again.

The entire scene hung on a thread, completely and utterly impossible. For a moment, he could swear it was a trick of the fade. He’d fallen asleep and this was a fantastic dream. Then, as it was prone to, chaos happened all at once.

“Oh, you are darling!” Isabela cooed, dropping into a crouch that had two thirds of the men in the tavern twisting their necks into improbable shapes to eye her. “Where did that grouchy elf find…”

At this point in time,  Isabela's eyes drifted up and locked on Varania. She hissed through her teeth in shock or perhaps indignant rage, Fenris couldn't quite be sure. “You…” she began, straightening up.

Varania flinched and thoughtlessly, Fenris flung his arm between Isabela's bosom and Varania. “Things have come to our attention. In short, Varania is not to blame.”

He regretted his choice of words almost instantaneously as a short woman launched a solid right hook at Varric. In short, indeed. Varric dodged most of the blow, reeling back just enough for the unknown dwarf to trip him with a swing of her leg and send him sprawling on the tavern floor. With a muffled cry of distress, Varania pulled Sabina back. Hawke shouted, pushing forward and bristling in anger, but Isabela caught her by the collar and tugged her back. “Oh no, sweetness. Don't get involved in that. Tell Bela where you've been and how this…” She waved in distaste at Varania. “Happened.”

“This is exactly the type of trouble I was talking about!” The elderly barkeep squawked in alarm, arms waving in pinwheel circles. “Your kind…”

“My dear man, I would like to point out that the mages, bless our hearts, are not involved in this dwarven tussle.” Dorian drawled. “Perhaps you should consider a dwarf ban? Ah, but that would probably cut into your business substantially.”

Fenris could see that was probably the case. As the scuffle drew more attention (desperately unwanted attention, he reminded himself), he saw a half dozen dwarves stand menacingly. 

“Stand down!” Isabela waved at them. “Just a family squabble.”

“You are  _ not _ my family.” The young woman hissed, her fingers wrapped in the leather jacket dangerously close to Varric's throat. “How could you?” She demanded. Cassandra sighed in defeat. 

“Who is this?” Fenris asked pointedly. 

“Beatrix Cadash, currently the number two in the Cadash clan. It was a recent promotion due to the spectacular failure of her older sister to do the normal, rational thing and keep herself out of politics or religion.” Dorian explained. 

“There is a possibility we are going to have to intervene. She would be upset if they injured each other.” Cassandra stated with a twist in her mouth indicating evident distaste. 

“Mittens!” Varric had finally regained some of his equilibrium and had wrapped his fingers around the wrists of the other woman. “I hate to break it to you, but I’m almost certain this is not my fault.” 

She shoved against him with another gust of anger, pushing Varric back into the floor. Now he could see it, those clever and quick eyes. The Inquisitor’s had seen far too much far too easily and were a perfect matches for her sister's. “You reckless, careless…”

“Pots and kettles, Mittens.” Varric warned.

“I hope you're happy.” Beatrix spat venomously. “Do you have any idea… Maria is devastated.” 

“And laying here on the floor is certainly helping. You're right. Let's continue.” Varric sputtered in outrage.

“Boss, you okay?” One of the dwarves asked warily. 

“Do you need your knives back?” Another shouted.

“Not on my clean floors!” The barkeep continued to squawk. 

“I believe we have made enough of a spectacle of ourselves.” Fenris declared, reaching down and pulling Varric up at the same time as Cassandra reached for the other dwarf, hauling her to her feet. Hawke bent down beside Varric, murmurrering soothingly. Beatrix shrugged off Cassandra’s hands with a string of curse words that had Varania sighing in the distance. Finally she stopped, glaring stonily at Varric before sweeping her eyes arrogantly to one of the dwarves. 

“I want that Legion of the Dead bastard here.” She ordered. “Immediately. Tell him to bring a damn bird.” 

“Course, boss. He’s gonna want the map of those tunnels too.” The other dwarf commented.

“He can come get them, then. But if he shows up without a bird I’m shoving them up his…” 

“I would very much like one of those keys.” Varania interrupted. “Before my child learns any more new and interesting words.” 

“Your child?” Isabela echoed. Varania’s eyes, hard and clear swept back to the scantily clad pirate. 

“My child.” She confirmed, plucking one set of keys from the dwarf. “Come, Bina.” 

“I want to stay.” Sabina whined. 

“Go with your mama.” Hawke grinned, the expression only slightly strained. “I’ll come up soon and we’ll play.” 

“No!” Sabina protested. 

“Sabina. Audire ad matrem suam.” Fenris swept his eyes to the girl, jerking his chin in Varania’s direction. She paused, hesitating, bottom lip pushing out.

“ _ Sabina. _ ” Varania finally scolded, her fingers gripping Sabina’s thin arm. “Non metuet dulcis aut conversari.” 

Finally the child relented, allowing herself to be guided upstairs. Fenris twisted his eyes back to the two dwarves. Varric was rubbing his forehead with his knuckles. He spoke slowly, not meeting the furious eyes staring back at him. “How long have I been dead for, exactly?” 

“I heard about it three days ago when we got to port. I didn’t believe it, of course. You promised to stay and watch her back, so why would you be in Tevinter? But I sent a letter and got her response back yesterday.” Fenris thought that both her and Isabela had probably been drinking since then, now that she had settled he could see the red rimming her eyes, could smell the whiskey coming from Isabela. “She said she didn’t know. She’d sent people to try and find out, but she didn’t know. A scout said they’d spoken to you, but the Lieutenant who led the charge said she saw you fall.” 

Beatrix almost said something else, her hand fluttering near her pocket, but whatever it was she choked it back. She closed her eyes, rocked back on her heels for a moment. 

“Sugar, this is a good thing!” Isabela protested with a purr. “Think of how happy she’ll be to see all that sweet chest hair. I know it made my day.” 

“I’m going to my damn room. Let me know when Korbin shows up.” Bea muttered, pushing away. 

“Alone?” Isabela asked at the same time as Varric started to say “Mittens…” 

Beatrix ignored both of them and pushed through the assembled crowd. A surly waitress slammed a tray of soup and bread on the counter and eyed Hawke distrustfully. She ignored it cheerfully, picking up the tray. “Thank the Maker.” She muttered reverently. 

“Hawke, I have an emergency and all you’re worried about is soup?” Varric asked disdainfully. 

“Yes.” Hawke answered flippantly. 

 

_ He had only been at Skyhold for a few days and most of that had been spent in his room worrying over Hawke and recovering from the hard march. It had been enough time, however, to create this nightmare. And distantly, he knew it was a nightmare. _

_ Inquisitor Cadash slumped on her throne, a sword thrust through her chest and pinning her to the chair, her head rolled forward. The blood spilled down over her legs and onto the floor, covering the fingers of Varric’s hand. His eyes were rolled up sightlessly, his final motion caught in eternity. Grasping, reaching for the Inquisitor’s own hand that was lifelessly dangling beside her. _

_ Bodies were scattered throughout the great hall, Commander Rutherford with his sword discarded behind him and his head nearly severed. The Seeker directly before Varric. Inquisition soldiers all still, all dead. He could see flies, smell the decay.  _

_ Someone was singing, he could hear it through the open hall doors. The voice eerie in the silent stillness, but beautiful. Clear and bright as a bell and sending a familiar ache through his bones. He followed the sound, past the bodies, descending through the great doors and into the yard. _

_ “Are you, are you, coming to tree? Where I told you to run so we’d both be free…”  _

_ Varania was at the bottom of the steps, her voice ringing hauntingly in the silence, a sheet in her hand that she tossed over the stone wall, the white fabric stained red with blood. Varania as she had been, heartbreakingly young, face still a bit childish despite the emerging lines of womanhood. She continued her plaintive song, unseeing, ignoring the rivulets of blood running down her arms and legs from deep cuts that swirled intricately over her pale skin.  _

_ “Fenris!” Hawke, his name more of a moan in her mouth than a true word. He turned, scanning the courtyard for her. And there she was, a gaping bleeding wound from under her breasts to her pelvic bone, tears running down her face and pale, so very pale.  _

_ It is only a nightmare, he thought. But still he was beside her, staring into her blue eyes even as the light dimmed, holding her tighter even as she vanished from her body, her name falling from his lips desperately, tears burning his eyes.  _

_ “I have always wanted a grandchild.” Leandra Hawke crossed into his vision, the jumbled almogation of parts that she’d been turned into, skin rotting, eyes milky and cloudy as her entire body spasmed, a precious small creature bundled into her arms with hair as dark as Hawke’s, an impossibly small fist waving angrily as it cried quietly, weakly.  _

_ Behind him, he felt the crackling magic of the fade. He tightened his hold, desperate, on Hawke’s body and turned to look at the man there. Perhaps creature would be a better word, for what he saw before him was barely recognizable as Anders, blue light spilling through jagged cracks that were covered in something dark, something that reminded him of Carver’s death rattle and the endless blackness of the deep roads. “Is this what you would have?” Fenris demanded. “My joy turned to ashes in my mouth?”  _

_ “You cannot outrun justice.” The spirit boomed. “None of you can.”  _

 

The horror woke him as nothing else could. He was pressed tight against Hawke, his hand splayed over her stomach as if he could protect the fragile life she was growing. He blinked several times, inhaling the sweet scent of her skin to calm himself. Venhedis, the abomination would never let them go, never let them escape. 

Anders had saved them, Hawke was sure. 

Fenris had seen very little of Anders in the abomination. Not any longer. And he could not risk them. He could not risk Hawke and his child. He could not risk Varania or Sabina. Something would need to be done, and there was only one thing he could think to do. Perhaps what he should have done an age ago.

 

_ He opened the door to the Hawke estate, slipping past Bodhan with an easy greeting. The dwarven man was always polite, but not fawning, and it relaxed him. Bodhan would allow Fenris to make his own way to the library, would not question that Fenris did not discard his weapon or wonder at his prefering to keep it close. If it was well enough for Hawke, it was well enough for Bodhan.  _

_ Hawke’s massive mabari dozed peacefully in front of the fire, he opened an eye to examine him sleepily before closing it again and returning to his rest. He could hear Leandra chattering to a neighbor in the garden. Best to avoid that woman, she was obsessed with attempting to feed him and her food was delightful. Home cooked, savory, sumptuous. He was pushed with seconds and thirds with an affection that felt dangerously complacent.  _

_ Hawke was not at the desk where she usually awaited him before his lessons, the one time she was usually properly punctual. He was just beginning to feel irritated when he spotted her dark head glaring into the fireplace, a whole bottle of wine in her hand that she swigged backward.  _

_ The scene was immediately familiar and wrong, for a reason he could not pinpoint, but he allowed his eyes to wonder unobserved for a moment, down the clean line of her jaw, the porcelain skin warmed to alabaster by the cheerful glow of the fire. Her house robe was tied tightly around her waist, but the skirt was bunched just a bit higher than usual around her shapely thighs and he wanted.  _

_ He wanted, he wanted, he wanted. He wanted like the wolf he’d been named after. He desired to lay her back, bare her before him, and feast. He wanted to kiss that scowl from her mouth, taste the wine she’d been drinking, hear her breathy laughter. He wanted his name to flow from her lips in desperate pleasure. He needed to see the way she moved as he sought his pleasure from her and gave her ecstasy in return.  _

_ Why did he keep doing this to himself? Why did he keep returning to this exquisite torture? Surely, he had learned enough of the letters and sounds to continue on his own without enduring the temptation of Hawke. And yet, he returned every week like clockwork, like a man starved.  _

_ Like a stray dog returning to the hand that fed it. Like a slave coming to his master. And that, unfair as it was, made him scowl at her. The anger was more familiar, easier, less tortuous than this incredible unfulfilled longing… _

_ “Have you forgotten?” He asked snidely.  _

_ She started, the bottle nearly slipping from her hand as she turned, blue eyes fastening on him in… fear. Then hardening into something else. That was bewildering, Hawke was afraid of nothing.  _

_ “Of course you’re here. And I’m sure you have lots to say.” Her scowl deepened. “Should I start for you?”  _

_ Before he could ask what in the void had gotten into her head, she mimicked a gravelly growl. “Hawke, you are a fool. A blind and naive fool who is too trusting and...and...nug-brained!” She exploded, her voice returning to normal. _

_ “I have never told anyone that they were nug-brained in my life.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Hawke…”  _

_ “Is this where we get to the foreign cursing?” She asked, taking another gulp from the bottle. “Telling me I’m no better than a Magister? That all of my kind…”  _

_ “Are you drunk?” He asked, his confusion becoming something approaching disquiet. She was shaken, she was desperately upset. This was not Hawke, brooding into the fireplace and drinking from a bottle of wine, this was… _

_ Oh, that was why this felt so familiar.  _

_ “I was honestly hoping to get there before I had to listen to you. But, it looks like I didn’t start soon enough. Should have come straight here instead of stopping by the clinic.” She muttered darkly, taking another long sip from the bottle. If she began throwing things, somebody was going to blame him. He could already picture Varric’s stark disapproval.  _

_ The clinic, his mind clutched onto that word. The abomination.  _

_ “Hawke.” He gritted out between his teeth. “I am here for my reading lesson.”  _

_ She blinked. Once, twice, the sentence rattling around her head before it settled with a thunk that was almost visible. “Oh, Maker’s ass!” She blurted, quickly standing up, bottle of wine still clenched in her hand. “I’m sorry, Fenris. I forgot, I’m…”  _

_ He grabbed the bottle from her and steadied himself with his own long, slow drink. Her lips quirked. “Do you not have your own wine cellar?” She asked.  _

_ “I now am going to have to ask what the abomination has done to upset you so. I would prefer alcohol be involved in this discussion.” He answered, taking another drink. “Perhaps you should fetch another bottle.”  _

_ Guiltily, her eyes flashed back to the couch. Now that she’d moved, he could see there already was another bottle there. “You don’t have to ask. You could continue on in blissful ignorance.” She offered.  _

_ “Tempting. But no.” He replied, leaning against the desk. “What did the mage do this time?”  _

_ And she told him, sinking back to the couch and opening up the other bottle of wine, relinquishing the first one to him. Her voice was a dull monotone as she spoke, a trip through the gallows to find evidence of a tranquil conspiracy, of all things. A girl held down and about to be forced to perform sexually either before or after being made tranquil. Anders losing control as he swore he never would, templars slaughtered but a near thing, a close thing. And then… Anders almost smiting the girl they had set out to save.  _

_ “Fasta vass, Hawke. And you would still defend him?” He demanded, gauntlets tightening, metal points clicking against the bottle.  _

_ “He stopped. When I told him to stop, he stopped.” Her voice was infuriatingly sure. “I couldn’t...after seeing what the templars would do. I always thought he was exaggerating. But they were going to...to that poor girl. She was a child, Fenris. How could I turn Anders over to them? How could I turn Anders over to them knowing what they’ve done?”  _

_ “Not every templar.” He could shake her. “Not every…”  _

_ “What if I was that girl, Fenris?” Hawke asked, voice quavering. And fasta vass, he could not think about it without his stomach clenching painfully. Hawke’s laughing blue eyes forever cold, detached. A cruel man’s hand knotted in her long, glorious hair as he forced her to her knees. He could not. _

_ “He’s so sorry.” Hawke whispered, eyes downcast. “He was packing when I went back to the clinic.”  _

_ “After he ran like a coward and left you by yourself.” Fenris corrected. Hawke rolled her eyes.  _

_ “If you think you can ever truly be alone with Isabela and Varric with you, you’re mad.” She joked.  _

_ “Perhaps you should have left him leave.” Far away, where Fenris would never look up from his hand of cards and see those amber eyes lingering fondly over Hawke. “I believe he would love Tevinter.”  _

_ She hesitated. And Fenris could read her very soul in that hesitation, more easy than the letters and words he still struggled with. He knew her, knew her so very well. He had spent so long watching her. Wanting, wanting, always wanting… _

_ “What else is it, Hawke?” He asked.  _

_ “It was nothing. He wasn’t thinking clearly.” She began, voice pitched low to soothe.  _

_ “Did he try to harm you? Are you hurt?” Fenris suddenly took a deeper inventory of her. She appeared fine, but she was a proficient healer. If he had laid a finger on her, he would… _

_ “He kissed me.”  _

_ That was worse. That was much worse and it tore at some ragged part of him. The lyrium in his arms flickered, emotions in tumult. How dare he, how dare that creature think he could touch Hawke’s perfect lips.  _

_ A traitorous voice in his head asked how a broken slave could dare to grasp at a goddess either.  _

_ “Fenris.” Hawke said his voice slowly, steadily, and that fear was back again and why, why did she fear him? She who was so fearless had no reason to…  _

_ “Please don’t be angry. I didn’t… I didn’t ask him to. It was a mistake.” Hawke pleaded.  _

_ Perhaps, she was not afraid of him. Perhaps… no it would be too good to be true. Fear of losing him, when she had so much? He was not special, but still…  _

_ He crossed from the desk to the couch in two long strides. The hand that was not holding the bottle of wine lurched out, cold metal gauntlets wrapping around her slim wrist. She didn’t wrench away but became carefully still, blue eyes steady on his.  _

_ “Do you desire him?” Fenris demanded. Choose, he thought. Too long, too long they had both circled around this woman, snarling at each other. One moment she was flirting obnoxiously by his fireplace, the next ruffling those damn feathers on the mage’s robes. He suspected that he was not the only one tormented by Hawke’s creamy skin when she bet and lost her shirt at wicked grace. Three years, three years and…  _

_ “No.” She breathed, her heartbeat fluttering in her throat. He could not quite allow himself to hope. She coughed, cleared her throat. “I mean, honestly.” She drawled, that humorous mask flying back up. “I’m all for a threesome, but I’d much prefer Isabela to be involved over Justice.”  _

_ He could not bear that mask, he would not allow it, not when his self control was so frayed, not when all he could think about was the abomination capturing those red lips and tasting what Fenris had wanted, desired, obsessed over. “Do you desire me?” The words were a whisper, desperate. He needed her mask gone, he needed… _

_ And he saw it drop again, saw the shattered and hungry gleam in her eye. “Maker, Fenris, how could I not?” She asked.  _

_ He could have her. He could have what he coveted, her body and…  _

_ Her lips quirked up soft, tender. The way she looked at him while he read, the way he pretended not to notice, but replayed over and over in his mind, examining it from all angles, holding it tight to his chest because it was too precious, too good.  _

_ Like Hawke. And he could have her, body and soul, heart and mind. He need only reach out and take. But his courage failed him and he let go, turning on his heel and slamming the bottle on the desk, fleeing her elegant mansion and running back to the darkness and shadows. He could have her, he could have everything he wanted. _

_ It felt like a trap. It felt like he would drink it in and find it turned to ashes in his mouth. _

 

He had fought the urge that night to descend to Darktown and rip the abomination apart. He knew it would upset Hawke. And, foolishly, he had thought to revel in his victory for Hawke’s heart. He had been a fool, a cocky and arrogant fool. 

He would not make that mistake again, he had too much to lose. 

He caught movement in the shadows and sat up slowly, eyes lighting on Varania kneeling in front of the fire, Hawke’s red cloak over her lap. Her fingers flew over the fabric, a flicker of silver in her fingers. He stood, slipping from Hawke’s side and approaching. Varania looked up, nodded in acknowledgement, and dropped her eyes back to the cloth. 

“What are you doing?” He asked, leaning against the hearth. 

“She ripped it.” Varania raised an eyebrow, pointing to the shorn fabric, a hole where Hawke had caught it on their journey from Minrathous. 

“Yes, and she mended it.” Fenris reiterated. “I watched her.” 

“I would not call that mending. Sabina could do better.” Varania sniffed disdainfully, but not coldly. “I could not bear to look at that mess of stitches anymore.” 

That was fair, he had to concede sewing was not exactly Hawke’s strong suit. And Varania had gone far beyond mending, she was pricking a design of swirling silver around the hole, hiding the mending she was doing. 

“You cannot sleep?” She asked, her eyes back on her work as the needle flashed. He felt suddenly like his hands were too empty, that he should be working on something as well. Instead, he leaned forward and stared into the flickering flames. 

“The abomination comes to me in my dreams and torments me.” He growled. “He will not let us be free of him.” 

“Why does he hate you so?” Varania asked, tone careful. “He was willing to send you back with Danarius. It seemed a cruel thing to do for one who fought beside you.” 

“I was cruel when we first met. I did not understand, I thought the circle an elegant solution to the problem of the Magisters. I did not know the abuses templars inflicted and I learned it slowly. I was particularly distrustful of the mage because he was possessed by a spirit of Justice. It smacked of forbidden magic, of the magisters. I could not stomach it.” He paused, considering. “But, truly, I believe it is Reyna. I won her heart and I cannot be forgiven for it.” 

“He will come after you and her?” Varania asked. “For what purpose? To win her back by murdering you? I confess to little experience of courtship, but I doubt that would convince her. Particularly now.” 

“I know he will come. As for what purpose he seeks, I know not. Perhaps only to punish us.” Fenris hesitated. Varania spoke in the silence, letting the fabric rest against her lap and looking to the small bed where Sabina rested, Lucia curled up beneath her on the floor.

“I have had occasion to see him twice now. Both times he struck me as mad.” She said slowly. “I escaped the first time through luck alone. He is powerful, perhaps the demon within him makes him so.” 

“You were put in his way because of his animosity for me. I fear you will be again.” Her and Sabina and Hawke and their child. The thought made his blood run cold. He was not expecting the small curve of Varania's mouth, a grin that was vicious. 

“I doubt he is so strong as to survive all three of us. Let him come, we will be ready next time.” Her green eyes glimmered with bloodlust when she looked up at him. “I will not forget that he tried to take Sabina from me. And I will not forgive it.”

“You will stay with us?” He asked, fighting to keep his tone neutral. 

“If I leave, who will sew your baby's clothes? Venhedis, the babe will go naked.” She shook her head in mock disapproval, then smiled up at him almost shyly, her edges softening into something younger in the fire. 

“We used to sit like this while mama slept. You cleaned your blade and armor, I sewed. We would talk until it was very late. I have never lost the habit, even though I have been staring silently into flames more often than talking these last years.” She offered, and it felt like a priceless gift. A piece of a puzzle. 

“Do not tell Varric. He would call it brooding. I have… often spent whole nights staring into the flames and thinking. Drinking as well.” He admitted. 

They said nothing more, but the thought rolled between them silently. More than likely,  they had been keeping their silent vigil at the same time for years. Fenris unaware of even why he had been doing it, a force of habit so deeply ingrained it could not be erased. 

“I would prefer it if you continued to call me Fenris. I know it may be painful…” She looked up from her sewing and tipped her head to the side. 

“It is who you are. You have made it your own.” She said simply. “It is the name under which you became free. It is the name under which you married. I would not mind taking another myself some days.” 

“I have been called worse things than Fenris.” He agreed. 

 

Varric brought breakfast in the morning, looking wretched. Hawke fell upon it like she'd been starving, consenting to share only with Sabina and Lucia while pointing out that she was the one banned from the dining room, Varania and Fenris could get their own breakfast. 

“You sure you don’t have twins in there, Waffles?” Varric asked without his usual good humor. Hawke stopped mid-bite, shook her head. 

“No, definitely not.” She pronounced. 

“It is difficult to tell this early for certain. I do not believe she is, but the chance is higher if twins run in her family.” Varania answered. Everyone stopped what they were doing to stare at her. She was immersed in her daily battle with Sabina’s curls and didn’t notice. 

“My mother had twins.” Hawke said, putting down her fork. 

“Well, that settles it.” Varania said dryly. “I would start preparing for twins.” 

Fenris fought the urge to laugh as Hawke looked suspiciously at Varania and Varric actually snorted. “I think you’re messing with me.” Hawke accused. 

Varania looked up, face carefully schooled into polite neutrality. “Perish the thought. I would never do such a thing. It is not like I know who is responsible for Sabina’s newfound fascination with dragons.” 

“I want to see one!” Sabina cried, pulling away from her mother’s hands and looking up imploringly. 

In spite of himself, Varric actually laughed and Fenris grinned. 

“Well, I’m tired of this conversation.” Hawke said grandly, turning to Varric. “So how much trouble are you in, exactly?” 

“Well, Korbin told me I looked pretty good for a dead man when I showed up last night. Kind of ironic from someone actually in the Legion of the Dead. Beatrix sent a note to Skyhold. I sent a letter. With luck, Maria woke up to it today and...well, you saw what she’s frightened of, Hawke.”

“I know.” Hawke said immediately. Varania raised a curious eyebrow and shot him a look. Fenris shook his head. 

“We just need a ship.” Varric shrugged. Hawke’s eyebrows drew together. 

“Did Bela wreck hers again?” She asked. 

“Situation is a bit more complicated than that, Hawke.” Varric sighed, reclining against the bed and playfully ruffling Sabina’s curls. 

It turned out that the situation in Cumberland had deteriorated sharply from the last time Varric, Cassandra, and Dorian had passed through. The tension, between the mages at the illustrious college and the city residents, had reached a breaking point. Several small groups had already attacked the college and been repelled by small skirmishes with no serious injuries on either side, but there were Venatori agents in the city whipping up support to launch an attack that would take the college and wipe out the defenders. This, the city folk thought would rid them of dangerous maleficarum and prevent them from being targeted by rogue templars. 

The mages inside the college were originally only scholars. They had refused to fight in the war and had sequestered themselves, accepting mage refugees from all over Thedas that made it there. Mostly, they were the old or the young. The mages had barricaded themselves in the college and hoped to wait out the war. They still thought, foolishly, they could wait out this uprising. Inquisition forces were less optimistic. They knew Venatori would be among the mob, they knew that they would do whatever it took to gain access to the powerful and archaic artifacts in the college. 

And yet, the mages would not leave. The Inquisition had done everything short of breaking down the doors and abducting them. The mages in charge at the college did not trust Inquisitor Cadash, did not trust that the mages she had recruited from Redcliffe were willing allies and free to leave at their will. They did not trust her former templar commander, the left and right hand of the divine among her inner circle. They feared landing into the fire from the frying pan. 

The Inquisition could do nothing to convince them, and yet Inquisitor Cadash would not allow the artifacts to fall into Venatori hands. This left her with very few options, and the most attractive of them had been theft. Which explained exactly why Isabela and Beatrix were present. 

“There are lyrium smuggling tunnels under the college. Blondie wasn’t wrong, there are tunnels like this under most of the circles in Thedas and the Cadash family knows them and knows how to get access to them. Beatrix had planned to wait out the last of these negotiations and go in after they failed, nick the artifacts, and sail off with Isabela. The pirate has got herself three ships now, I’m not even sh...messing with you.” He grinned apologetically at Varania. “But Bea keeps pressing Korbin to continue the negotiations.”

“There are kids in there, Hawke. Nobody wants to leave them to this battle, but they don’t know what to do. It’s a damn mess and right now it’s looking like the Inquisition is at an impasse. The tunnels go right to the docks, Isabela says they can leave at any time but…” Varric trailed off, sighing. 

“They don’t trust the Inquisition.” Hawke mused slowly, twirling her fork in the air. “The college of magi and the grand enchanters tried to exonerate me after the whole Kirkwall fiasco, didn’t they?” 

“Before the Divine disbanded them, yes.” Varric answered helpfully. “Didn’t particularly convince the templars, but it was a nice gesture. They had testimony from other mages that you’d tried to keep peace, that you’d risked your life saving them. They said they wouldn’t make a decision until they heard your testimony, but it was a stalling tactic to keep the templars happy. Nobody seriously believed you were guilty except the templars.” 

“It didn’t work.” Fenris reminded him. “Hawke was attacked in Llomeryn immediately after the vote.” 

Hawke was tapping her fingers thoughtfully on her chin, looking out the window. “They don’t trust the Inquisition because the Inquisitor isn’t a mage, Varric. But she’s been good to the mages, better than she had to be quite honestly.” 

“You’re not telling me anything I don’t know, Waffles.” Varric folded his arms over his chest and looked speculatively at Hawke. Hawke smiled softly. 

“You could just ask, Varric.” She teased. 

“With Broody here one step away from throwing me in the harbor and you on a boat? Unlikely.” Varric grinned, examining his gloved hands. “Better if you volunteer. Less chance of risk on my part.” 

Fenris suddenly very much disliked where this conversation was going. He growled, standing straight up. “Hawke, no.” 

“I do not understand.” Varania stated. 

“You do not need to because she should not  be considering it.” Fenris bit out. “You are with child. It is not the time for dashing heroics, Reyna. We have done quite enough of that.” 

“It’s not dashing heroics yet, not if we’re quick enough.” Hawke reasoned, smirking. “My armor is in the bag, Varric. I don’t think I’ve gained so much weight it won’t fit.” 

“I still do not understand.” Varania sighed, dropping her hands from Sabina’s hair into her lap in a resigned sort of way. 

“They won’t trust the word of the Inquisitor. But the Champion of Kirkwall?” Hawke pointed out, beaming. “Well, the Champion of Kirkwall is a brilliant, beautiful, and witty mage.” 

“The Champion of Kirkwall.” Fenris sneered. “Is a stubborn fool.”

“You’re the one who fell in love with her, Broody.” Varric grinned. “Get dressed, let’s go bust another circle open.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Audire ad matrem suam: Listen to your mother.
> 
> *Non metuet dulcis aut conversari: There will be no sweets unless you behave.
> 
> **Varania’s nightmare lyrics are from “The Hanging Tree” from the Hunger Games soundtrack. One of the creepiest songs I’ve ever heard.


	60. Covet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varania covets, in spite of herself.

Varania was still not entirely certain she understood. She had been aware that Hawke was the Champion of Kirkwall for some incident with the Qunari, but she had not realized exactly the scope of what Hawke represented. A free mage in the south with power and position. The closest thing to a Magister anyone had seen in ages outside Tevinter. 

Apparently the circles of the south had begun falling in Kirkwall and Hawke was intimately involved. From what she gathered, Hawke, Fenris, Varric, and Isabela had all been there the day it had begun. Hawke had been given a choice: the templars and the old ways or the mages and a dangerous new chaos. Hawke had chosen chaos. 

Varania doubted Hawke would see it this way. She saw it as saving the lives of the mages who were innocent in the destruction one mage had wrought. She had given little thought to the long ranging consequences of such an action, that she would turn the ground beneath ancient institutions into sand. She had accidentally set herself as a Champion not only of Kirkwall, but of mages everywhere innocent of suspected sins. 

She planned to use this to pull innocent children from danger. She would lend her name to the Inquisition and stake her reputation on no harm befalling them once they'd established themselves. The disagreement between Fenris and Hawke seemed to have little to do with the substance of the Champion's reputation, but rather that it existed at all. 

Pragmatically, Varania thought it was a bit late for this argument. 

“And how often will you throw yourself into danger for these mages?” Fenris demanded. “Even if they are not maleficarum, they have made their choice. Perhaps they should live and die by it.”

“They're frightened, Fenris. You know what desperate and frightened mages can do. It's more reasonable to rescue them from themselves now than let the streets run with blood later.” Hawke gestured wildly, impatiently pushing back her long hair. 

“Weak mages turn to forbidden magics when cornered and desperate, which they already are. If there are no maleficar there yet I will be shocked.” Fenris sneered. 

And one drop of blood magic was often not enough of a taste, in Varania's experience. It started harmlessly enough, but eventually blood demanded more blood. Danarius had not always been a monster, but the more blood magic he used the more inhuman he was. She suspected it was a price that must be paid sooner or later for forbidden arts.

Some mages were just monsters from the beginning. Corix had been, but he would have been a monster even without the magic he wielded. That was the difference, truly, between mages and non-mages. Everyone could be vicious and cruel, twisted and evil. However, a mage was inherently powerful enough to seek their desires. Blood magic twisted the worst into walking nightmares. 

Varania had once used her magic to kill an unarmed man. She had not needed blood magic to accomplish that. He had been a bureaucrat, balding and sweaty from the heat, carrying extra weight in his stomach from too many pies and too much ale. He introduced himself as a man sent to take a count of citizens of the Imperium, cheerfully asking to see her papers and her daughter's. Papers that Sabina did not have. 

She had invited him in calmly and politely, ushering him to a chair while she palmed her sword hilt from its place in the pantry and cheerfully offered him tea. Her hands had been admirably steady when she slid her blade between his ribs, professionally examining her neat wound straight to his heart as his eyes dimmed. He had never stopped looking shocked at the sudden turn of events, even in death. Sabina had been napping in the cot behind the curtain as her mother murdered mere feet away. 

It was not even the worst thing she had done. 

Sabina and the dwarf were watching the argument with great interest as Varania finally twisted the last of Sabina’s curls into some sort of order with only three bent hairpins. A good day, she thought as she bent one of them back. Finally, as Hawke tugged leather trousers free from the pack, she narrowed her eyes and interrupted Fenris.

“I do hate to knock you off your high horse when you get started, but you do realize there is a sizable chance this baby is going to be spitting up fireballs?” She raised an eyebrow, sweeping an arm over her stomach. “How likely would you say that is, Varania?” 

“That the baby spits up fireballs? I've yet to see that happen. I believe if it were possible, it would have occurred in Minrathous already.” Varania could not hide her small smile at Hawke’s sigh of exasperation. “Would you like to see the horses, Bina?” Varania asked, planting a soft kiss on her daughter’s temple. She could still swear Sabina smelled as she had as a baby, a sweet milk and clean scent that never wavered. 

“You are avoiding the question.” Hawke accused. 

“It is not my argument, is it?” Varania asked, smiling into Sabina’s hair. “Tell amita you want to see the horses and to stop antagonizing patruus.” 

“Out!” Hawke declared, pointing to the door. “And take Varric with you!” 

 

Sabina was taken with the dwarf’s pony, a horse much more suited to her size, but Varania found the chestnut gelding that had carried them so faithfully though Tevinter. It heard her coming and pushed it’s massive head out the stall, flicking his mane in greeting. “Salve, amice.” Varania cooed, reaching into her pocket for the slices of dried apple she had saved from her own breakfast. She couldn’t help the small smile as the horse mouthed them off her proffered palm, then pressed his head into it for a good stroke. She allowed her hand to move to the pointed ears. 

She had thought the dwarf distracted by Sabina’s charming chatter, but when she looked over her shoulder she saw instead that those amber eyes were appraising her. She felt as if she had been caught vulnerable and dropped her hand, shifting her eyes to the ground. The horse had none of it, pushing his head against her cheek, gently but insistently. “That’s mama’s horse.” Sabina claimed, flashing her bright grin at the dwarf. 

“He is not, Sabina.” Varania scolded, unable to help her hand from reaching up an stroking that velvet soft muzzle again. “He belongs to the Inquisition now. I assume they will take care of him when we leave?” Varania asked, fighting the burning and choking feeling in her throat. Silly, perhaps. The creature had no idea…

“He’s coming with us, Spitfire. I already talked to Rivaini, she said she can fit your horse in the ship without an issue. Did you give him a name yet?” He asked amicably, casually, with an air of feigned nonchalance that did not fool her for one moment. 

She had named the horse in her heart. Tyrus, for the ancient hero who had been a freed slave and risen to slay a dragon threatening the town of Qarinus. It had been the name she would have chosen if Sabina had been a boy, a brave and strong name for a hero. Or a heroic horse, in this case. She narrowed her eyes at the dwarf and his faux innocent facade. 

“For what reason?” Varania asked, crossing her arms over her chest. “I have nothing with which to repay you and I will not…” 

“Easy.” Varric chuckled, waving his hand. “If you need a reason, how about saving my dwarven posterior in Tevinter? But really, I’ve just missed fighting with prickly elves.” 

She did not dignify that with a response, biting her lip as she mused this over. She wanted the horse to come with them, perhaps she could convince Fenris to teach her to ride. It would be a way for her to escape, if needed, with Sabina in tow. It would be…

She turned her head a fraction of an inch and saw the horse’s sad dark eyes looking at her so gently she could not bear the thought of leaving him. “What is his name?” Sabina demanded, her unruly curls already escaping the careful pins and braids Varania had struggled with. 

“Tyrus.” Varania answered, pulling Sabina up into her arms so she could look into the big gentle eyes herself. She could see the two of them reflected in their black depths. “For the great hero who slayed a fierce high dragon with nothing but a broken blade.” 

“I want to be Tyrus.” Sabina said thoughtfully, reaching out her own pudgy hand to stroke the horse’s muzzle. “Why am I Sabina?” 

“Your papa chose it.” Varania answered. “There was a woman once named Sabina who stood between two great armies and convinced them to make peace. She prevented a great loss of life that day.” 

“I’d rather slay dragons.” Sabina replied. “Like amita and patruus.” 

“Perhaps when you’re older you’ll change your mind.” Varania stated evenly. Sabina wrinkled her nose in distaste and the dwarf chuckled. 

“Guts and glory, you’ll fit in well, Bean.” He observed wryly, patting his pony affectionately. “Mine is called nugbrains.” 

Despite herself, Varania found herself smiling as she put Sabina down. 

 

“You did not answer Reyna's question.” Fenris accused when he found her later, watching the dwarf explain cards to Sabina. She had vetoed both diamondback and Wicked Grace, stating that she was rather certain allowing her child to gamble before she was old enough to be out of an adult's sight would certainly qualify her as a bad mother. Varric had decided on a much less risky game called Chasing Queens, where the sole ambition was not to end up with the angel of death. Varania was certain Sabina should have lost twice, but the dwarf had cheated to enable her to claim victory once and was well on the way to doing so again if the way he thumbed the cards was any indication. 

Varania was sitting on the stall door, the horse's heavy head leaning against her shoulder and her bare feet swinging above the packed dirt floor, listening to the sounds of the city around them. Familiar and soothing, but different. Perhaps it was only her, but there seemed to be much less dread in the air. She was thinking these things so loudly that she almost didn't hear the question Fenris had asked. When she finally comprehended it, she shrugged nonchalantly at his impatient expression. 

“I do not know the answer.” She replied. “If you wish to know whether the magic runs in your blood too, I cannot be certain.”

He continued to wait for more of an explanation, still as a statue. She could play a game where she waited him out, but she suspected that Fenris now had much more patience than Leto had ever had. “We do not have the same father. I assume that was obvious?” 

“Indeed. Unless someone bleached you when you were born.” Fenris replied with the faintest hint of snark. 

“You have made that joke before.” Varania reprimanded. “It was not funny the first time.”

“I believe I have an excuse since I cannot remember it.” He offered, then twirled his fingers towards her to continue her story. Varania took a deep breath.

“I do not know my father. I have not even a name. I know not if he lives or if he perished years ago. I am not the spawn of a Magister, at least. The ears would point to the fact I am certainly a full blooded elf. I can only assume my father was either slave, liberati, or soporati. Perhaps Danarius ordered mother to breed.” She could not help the harshness in her tone, the sneer that tightened her lip. “Perhaps I am the result of someone forcing themselves on her. I am certain I was not wanted, although perhaps that came after…”

She looked down at her hands, the mana tingling just beneath the surface. Always ready, always singing even if she no longer did so. Perhaps she had been unwanted after her magic had risen to the surface like a thundercloud. She shrugged,  folding her hands together. “Mother herself knew little of her own family. She was sold twice as a child. She could not remember magic, but she was quite young when she was separated from her parents. If Sabina had no magic, I would not have told her of mine for years still.”

At her name, Sabina looked up. She broke into a wide grin at the sight of Fenris, waving her fistful of cards. “I'm winning!” She declared triumphantly. 

“Broody, you brought a regular card shark with you. She's already won two coppers off me.” Varric sighed dramatically.

“I thought I said no gambling?” Varania asked, raising an eyebrow. Sabina giggled.

“Well she would have won two coppers. If we were betting money, which I assure you I would never encourage.” Varric lied smoothly, winking at the child. Varania could not help but smile, nodding her head at Sabina. 

“So I cannot say for certain where my magic came from, but it is strong. And I believe it will be strong in Bina too. If I had to estimate the odds of whether or not your child has magic? At least half a chance. Perhaps more.” She inclined her head to the side, observing the serious expression on his face. “It is a burden I would not wish Sabina to carry. But I believe it can keep her safe from this world as well.” 

“You are not sure if it is a gift or a curse.” Fenris observed astutely. 

“I’m certain it is both.” She answered. “But it is done. And there is nothing to be done about my magic or Bina’s, or whether or not your child has any. We will have to wait and see.” 

“My father…” Fenris trailed off, looking away, focused on a rather uninteresting bit of the stable. 

“I know a bit more of him. Is this the time you wish to have this conversation? Do you not have a flock of mages to save?” She had spotted Hawke striding past the open door, eyes searching but missing them. She’d be back in a moment, she knew. Fenris swore softly, pushing away from the stall door. 

“Isabela says she will take you and Sabina to the ship. We will join you as soon as we have finished this ridiculous task.” He muttered darkly, running his long tanned fingers through his white hair. Varania wondered if her own hair would turn as white as his when she got older. She already had some strands of white she’d found in her hair, which hurt her vanity quite a bit more than she wanted to admit. 

“The pirate does not like me.” Varania tried not to sound as if it bothered her. 

Fenris struggled not to smirk. “I would say that saves you the trouble of worrying about her attempting to seduce you, but it does not.” 

“There you are!” Hawke declared, strolling in. She was wearing the armor Varania had only seen in the book and in pieces in her bags. “Look at this!” 

Hawke was gesturing towards her abdomen with an indignant expression. Varania did not understand the issue until she turned to the side and displayed a slight rounded curve that was hidden in her loose blouses, but accented by the tight leather cinching her waist. “What is this?” Hawke demanded. 

“It could be all that breakfast you wouldn’t share.” Varania offered. And it could have been, truly, early pregnancy was a fickle thing and Varania had never seen two women show the exact same way. But she didn’t think so, not really. That was her nephew or niece, the wondrous words seeming so foreign, so unexpected. 

“Is the baby done growing?” Sabina asked, racing to Hawke’s side and reaching on tiptoes to place her full palm over the round curve greedily. 

“Not yet.” Hawke laughed, reaching down to cover Sabina’s palm with her own. “It’ll get much bigger before it can come play with you, Bean.” 

Sabina let out a long suffering sigh, pulling her hand free impatiently. Her spot was taken immediately by Fenris’s fingers, painfully gentle as he traced a path over the curve with barely concealed wonder. His smile flickered and he looked into Hawe’s eyes with something shy and tender and…

 

_ Nico was trying not to cry, she could tell, as he ran his fingers up and down her barely rounded stomach. “You should not… there are so many things that could go wrong. The birth could be hard. You have struggled to feed yourself properly. If he finds out… they will always have their claws in you, my love. You will never be free.”  _

_ “I will be careful.” Varania promised, and Nico pulled back, coughing again. She saw the blood he tried to wipe from his lips before she could notice, but  she said nothing. There was no cure for what ailed him, and he would not be allowed to pass peacefully in his sleep. The magister would demand his end fuel his power.   _

_ She could not think of it. Would not think of it with his fingers on her bare skin and their time running perilously low. One more goodbye on the horizon. “Come with me.” She begged. “We will run to the Marches. To Nevarra. To Ferelden if we need to. Come with us.”  _

_ “And you would face the cost of assisting a slave flee when we are caught? I will not do that to you.” Nico sighed and bent his head, pressing his dry lips against the curve of her stomach. “To either of you. Not when I am already dead, Varania.”  _

_ “We will figure something out.” Her voice shook. “What would you name our child?” _

_ His smile was real and tender and Maker, she loved him. She had loved him since she was a girl and they should have had more time, Nico should meet his child. She should have had her family and instead she had nothing but despair.  _

_ “Sabina, for a girl. And a boy…” He trailed off, looked up into her eyes. She knew where he was going before he said it, and she wished she could stop him, wished he would not, and yet loved him all the more for saying it. “Leto, I think.”  _

_ “I could not bear that.” Varania whispered. _

_ “Then you should choose for a boy. But Sabina, for a girl.”  _

 

If someone had asked her to put into words how she felt, Varania would be unable to do so. She had thought she had closed that wound, sewn it up and shut it in a drawer where she would never be forced to relive it. And yet, sometimes the drawer would slide open without her knowledge and leave her powerless to stop it. Once, it had happened when Sabina had lifted another child from the ground during a game and kindly shared her orange. While working, she’d cried over a man she’d seen at the docks that whistled just like he did. And now this, that expression on her brother’s face. The brother she had loved, lost, and betrayed then, remarkably, found again. 

She would not begrudge them this happiness she had only briefly tasted. Her fists tightened in her skirts and her heart pounded in her ears but she would not want this for herself, she had made her choices and she had known the risks. It would be unjust to covet it. But a small part of her did, regardless, and she could not quite meet Hawke’s eyes when she grinned at her. 

And yet, Hawke understood. Or at least, understood enough. She was pulling away from Fenris, eyes on the horse. “I was told this boy is coming with us.” She crooned, leaning on the stall door beside Varania. “It’s good of you to take him. I think he likes you.” 

She had never let Fenris down, that was what he said. And for a brief, shining moment, Varania could believe Hawke would never let her or Sabina down either. 

“You will be careful on this errand of yours?” She questioned. Hawke’s eyelashes fluttered innocently and she grinned. 

“When am I  _ not _ careful?” She drawled. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Salve amice: Hello friend


	61. Three Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Champion rises and the storyteller returns home.

_ Maria, _

_ Shit. Well, not to state the obvious, but I’m not dead. Yet, at any rate. I can’t guarantee that your sister isn’t going to murder me. The worst part is, I may deserve it. I’m a gigantic dwarven ass and I don’t know how much groveling I’m going to need to do to fix this, but I’m definitely willing to plead, beg, or grovel.  _

_ It isn’t my fault that I was accidentally reported dead. I do urge some strong words for whoever fucked that up. Notice I said words, Princess. No need for a carta knee-capping on my account. I know you’re probably furious, or you will be, but you know how battle is. It gets confusing and messy, quick.  _

_ It is my fault that you thought I died and that you’ve never hear me tell you I love you. I tried to send you two other letters, both of them telling you what an ass I was for waiting for the perfect moment to tell you. Like the world isn’t falling down around her damn ears. Like one of us couldn’t die at any moment.  _

_ I’ve never asked the Maker for anything more than I’ve asked him to keep you safe. I didn’t plan on falling in love with you, but I did. I can pinpoint the exact moment I fell in love with you, the moment I had to leave you at Haven. I looked at you over my shoulder, saw you beside the trebuchet with your bow and your hair a damned mess. I watched you stand alone like a candle to chase away the darkness, burning bright as Andraste’s pyre, and I knew. I knew I loved you and then I thought I’d lost you.  _

_ But you came back. You always come back. The story should end with you riding out one day and never coming home and that scares the hell out of me, Maria. I’ve let it make me a coward too long. I love you, and fearing it won’t change it. I love you and I know you love me too.  _

_ I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life. If they brought me to Haven that day you fell out of the sky, I’m grateful for every single one.  _

_ I’ll be home soon.  _

_ -Varric _

 

Varric was not one for long bouts of self-flagellation over his mistakes. He rarely indulged in ale while brooding into the fireplace. He didn’t have the beard for it, first off, and he felt as if it really helped very little. His letter had been ripped from his hand by a very stormy Beatrix and shoved onto an Inquisition bird. With any luck, it would arrive in a few hours and she would get it when she awoke.

As if she was sleeping. As if she’d slept since she’d heard. He wouldn’t have been able to if he was her, he hadn’t slept after Haven. Not until she tumbled back into his arms. He knew that she’d be pacing Skyhold like a wraith, her mark snapping and burning, green light flickering through abandoned halls. That’s if she hadn’t slipped past Nightingale’s people, setting out to find answers on her own. 

“I thought nothing could be worse than your incessant talking.” Cassandra said, slamming a tray down in front of him that had something steaming hot on it. “It is just like you to insist on proving me wrong. Eat.” 

He wanted to make a retort, but the words failed him. He lifted his eyes to Cassandra instead, hoping for once that the Seeker could read everything there. She sighed. 

“She is the strongest woman I have had to privilege to meet. I do not doubt that the news devastated her, but she is a fortress and the reports have been mixed. I would not be surprised if she simply refused to accept your death out of stubborness.” Cassandra turned away, unclasping her breast plate. “If you like, I will room with Dorian instead and you can be alone.” 

“No, Seeker.” Varric sighed. “I wouldn’t subject you to that. How do you think Bull sleeps with him?” 

“I am beginning to believe he gags him, but that is only a theory.” Cassandra muttered. 

 

Cassandra left him alone, but Hawke showed up sheepishly not fifteen minutes later. “Finish your soup, Waffles?” He asked with a withering stare. Hawke had the sense to look a bit chastened. 

“It was delicious.” She said, picking up his spoon. “You should have some. I can feed it to you! I’ll need the practice.” 

“I swear Hawke, not even Broody will be able to save you.” He threatened, eying her distrustfully until she dropped the spoon with a sigh. 

“Right, this is bad. But we’ll get you home soon!” Hawke promised cheerfully, sitting back in her chair and putting her boots on the edge of the small table. One hand rested on her stomach unconsciously. “And I know this is really my fault, so I’ll talk to her and make it better. I promise.” 

“Do you remember the last time you attempted to help me with a romantic escapade?” Varric groused. Hawke smiled fondly. 

“Maker, was that the damned Viscount’s ball? The one where Isabela stole all the silver? Aveline was pissed. Who was that dwarf I was trying to set you up with?” She asked, quirking her head to the side.

“Andraste’s ass. Polly and Patty, they were twins, Hawke, and you kept getting them confused. Do you have any idea how much time I had to spend soothing ruffled feathers for months after?” He asked, sinking lower into his chair. 

Cassandra snorted in amusement from her bed. 

 

Long after Hawke had left, after Cassandra was snoring, he was still in the same place with the cold, gelatinous soup in front of him. He didn’t move when the lock was picked, or when the door swung open to admit Beatrix. She glanced suspiciously at the soup, then pulled a letter from her pocket. 

“This is what she sent me. It scares me.” She admitted in a whisper as she collapsed into the chair Hawke had sat in, the darkening room shadowing her face. 

 

_ Bea, _

_ I don’t know if he’s dead. The lieutenant saw him fall in battle, but there’s a scout who swears up and down she saw him and that he was trying to send a letter. That does sound like him, doesn’t it?  _

_ I felt a knife in my ribs. On the Storm Coast, sitting next to Bull and helping him drink his sorrows. I felt it. I felt it for damn near an hour and it hurt. I know you won’t believe me and I know it sounds crazy. I swear I saw him for a moment in the mist, falling to his knees.  _

_ I swear, Bea. I’m not losing it.  _

_ If I don’t hear anything soon, Maker take this damned Inquisition, I’m leaving and going to find him on my own.  _

_ If he’s dead, I don’t know what I’ll do. _

_ -Maria _

 

“I knew you weren’t saying something.” Varric whispered, putting the paper down, unable to resist the urge to trace his thumb over the curling letters. 

“It’s out a damned story book. A bad one.” Beatrix’s words were still slurred and she rubbed the back of her hand against her eyes. “You didn’t actually get stabbed.” 

“I did. Between the ribs.” He answered, closing his eyes, remembering the disorientation, the flash of images that were disjointed and confusing, but in between them all the image, clear as day, of Maria with her hair plastered wet to her face, a new bruise on her chin. “Nearly bled out.” 

“Next thing you’re going to say is that you saw her too.” Beatrix complained sullenly. His silence made her groan and she put her whole face on the table. 

“Why can’t anything normal happen to her?” She moaned in dismay. 

Beatrix eventually began to ramble drunkenly about the reason she was in Cumberland and Varric began to come up with a plan. When the smaller dwarf was nearly snoring on the table, he’d swung her up and carried her to the bed opposite Cassandra. He’d sleep in the damn chair, if he slept at all. 

“I am glad.” Beatrix mumbled as he sat her down on the top of the blankets. “Glad you’re not dead. Do it again, though, and I’ll drown you in the harbor.” 

“Duly noted, Mittens.” Varric chuckled. 

 

Isabela was upset she had to play babysitter. Although the problem wasn’t the actual child, but rather Varania. Isabela, it seemed, had a soft spot in her heart for wild children. Varric had a feeling, watching the young girl race down the pier and back while her mother hovered nervously, that Sabina would grow almost as unruly as the pirate in front of him, her arms on her hips. 

“She tried to sell her own brother back to his owner, Varric!” Isabela hissed. “Into slavery! Do I need to remind you who exactly that was, Varric? Tall, dark, broody, and entirely too handsome to be wasted on slavery!” 

“Rivaini.” Varric pleaded. “I think if Hawke and Broody have forgiven her, it isn’t up to you to hold a grudge.” 

“Hawke forgives everyone everything.” Isabela waved her hand dismissively. “And Fenris...you know how much he wanted his family back.”

“You have benefited from Hawke’s forgiveness more than once.” Varric warned. 

“Which is exactly why I know how extensive it is!” Isabela threw her hands up in exasperation. “Listen, I say we leave her here and take the girl with us. Hawke and Fenris need practice in parenting anyway.” 

“You’re advocating taking a child away from her very devoted mother. You do realize that sounds crazy, right? That little girl loves her.” He was fighting the urge to shake the pirate. Isabela’s gaze darkened and she looked back at the docks, something melancholy lingering at her features as she examined Varania picking up Sabina and swinging the girl in the air. Varric could hear the laughter like bells. 

“Some little girls are better off without their scheming mothers.” Isabela muttered darkly. Varric sighed. 

“Your own personal trauma is dripping all over this, Rivaini. Trust me.” Varric tightened the harness holding Bianca. “You don’t even have to talk to Varania. Focus on Sabina, let her play on the ship and spin the big wheel thing.” 

Isabela’s disappointed sigh spoke volumes. Before he could even roll his eyes, he caught sight of an inquisition scout waving him down, a letter fluttering in his hand. “Report ser!” The man said, handing it out. There was a blob of wax sealing it closed, unusual. A letter that Leliana had been instructed not to read. His heart throbbed in his throat as he examined the seal in the wax, shaking his head with suppressed laughter. 

The Inquisitor did not have a signet ring, mostly because Josephine was the one handling all the official correspondence. The notes and instructions from Maria’s own hand were distinct, her handwriting unmistakable to the scouts all over Thedas. It helped that Leliana’s birds were vicious to anyone that wasn’t inquisition, the chances of someone managing to intercept a message and put on a new one was...slim.  

The Inquisitor did have someone else’s signet ring. The one he’d left with his guild documents for her to use. Guild business only, of course. Yet the Tethras crest was staring up at him from the creamy white paper, perfectly formed in crimson. Was she in his room doing his work when they’d brought his letter to her? Or...and this was too tempting of a thought, had Maria taken to carrying the ring around? It certainly was too large for her to wear on her slim archer’s hands, but perhaps on a chain or leather cord around her neck, dangling between her perfect breasts. 

He’d never be able to look at his father’s ring again without thinking of that. Distracted, he quickly broke the seal. His letter had been longer, but then, he was always saying too much. Her letter was one line and he nearly sagged in relief as he read it. 

 

_ It doesn’t count until I hear you say it, Varric. I’ll be waiting for you. _

_ -Maria _

 

Still in Skyhold, still safe. “Be ready to sail as soon as we’ve got those mages, Rivaini. And behave yourself.” 

“Boring!” Isabela responded cheerfully, turning to look at her ships with a beaming and satisfied grin. 

 

The plan was for Hawke and Fenris to go in the front with Dorian and Cassandra, while Varric and Beatrix prepared the escape route. Just in case, Varric thought wryly, this plan exploded in their faces. As Hawke’s plans were prone to, if he was being completely honest. Beatrix was holding a map in front of her face, muttering darkly under her breath about hating smuggling tunnels with a violent passion. Varric had to agree, watching some (thankfully) normal sized spiders skitter away from his torch. It didn’t help that their Legion of the Dead companion was striding far ahead of them and shooting dark glances over his shoulder at their cautious approach deeper into the caves. 

“Korbin, I swear on every single snot nosed ancestor of mine, if you so much as say stone blind, I’m going to make you wish you were literally dead instead of just metaphorically.” Beatrix’s voice dripped acid. Korbin couldn’t quite hide his grin under his ostentatious beard. 

“Is your sister as much of a ninny underground as you are?” He asked instead. Beatrix burst into mirthless laughter. 

“Worse. She’s scared to death of spiders.” Beatrix sniffed, looking at the map and looking up. “I’m gonna need a boost boys, I think we’re here.” 

With a resentful sigh, Korbin dropped his axe and swung low, allowing Beatrix to clamber up on his shoulders. For a moment, Varric wasn’t quite sure they’d reach, but she pushed the door up and Varric was able to catch a glimpse of dim light. “Thank the Maker.” Beatrix breathed, catching herself on the edge and pulling herself up off of Korbin’s shoulders. He could hear her humming and her boots tapping on the floor before a coil of rope fell over the side, unspiraling as it fell. Korbin tugged it experimentally before looking up suspiciously.

“You anchor this appropriately, surfacer?” He asked with a scowl. 

“I can almost guarantee it’s anchored enough to support your asses, as to the egos both of you have…” Varric could swear Beatrix ended that sentence with a giggle. He rolled his eyes and clambered up the rope, pulling himself clear and looking around the musty basement. 

“So what do we do now? Wait for your champion to come down and tell us all is well and we can go back through the creepy tunnel?” Beatrix asked, opening up one crate and peering into it. 

“I can almost guarantee it won’t be that easy.” Varric offered. “Don’t feel too bored, Mittens. I’m going to scout around upstairs.” 

Maria waved him away dismissively as she appraised an old mirror in the corner, one that looked suspiciously like Merrill’s. At least he could feel reasonably certain that Beatrix and Korbin wouldn’t turn to blood magic. 

Climbing the stairs from the basement, Varric was greeted by a cheerful clutter of work spaces. Rooms full of ancient tomes, parchment unrolled out over big oak tables. Fancy and delicate looking instruments spun silently, representing the movement of the stars perhaps? They reminded him of Chantal Amell’s study in Amaranthine. Dust covered most of the workspaces, only a few appearing regularly used. Once, the mages of the college had been renowned scholars, free to study and work in relative peace under the ever watchful, strict eyes of their templar keepers. 

Free to unlock the mysteries of the universe. Not free to walk outside their own walls. There was something sad about that. Something even sadder about the thought of Hawke, skin almost translucent for lack of sun, bent over the desk scribbling away. His thoughts flew back to the harbor, their littlest mageling shrieking with joy as she ran down the docks, her wild hair streaking behind her.

Blondie had destroyed Kirkwall. Kirkwall, with it’s maze of streets and alleys, the stench of old fish at the docks, the snooty nobles, the hanged man in all of it’s shabby glory. Varric’s first love, his home. The city he still missed in his bones. It was the city he dreamed about bringing Maria to in his most secret fantasies. The ones where he finally did something somewhat respectable in his dwarven life and built a home for his lover. 

He couldn’t forgive Anders for the destruction, the terrible cost he had demanded for his revolution. Regardless, a small part of him rejoiced that never would he have to worry about wild and passionate Hawke locked in this room, torn from the child she carried at it’s very birth. It wasn't the right way to do it, but at least it had accomplished something. There would be no going back. 

_ There can be no half measures.  _

Varric shuddered, looking around as if he could find the source of the words echoing around his brain. He tightened his shoulders instead, affecting a cheerfully unruffled stroll as he continued. 

He heard them before he saw them. There was a grand hall up ahead, and as he approached, creeping closer and closer through the shadows, he could see a gaggle of children ranging in ages from five to sixteen on the floor. The older ones looked awestruck, only half focusing on minding the younger ones. Every so often, a child of Sabina’s age would begin to wonder away only to be snatched back at the last moment by an arm around their waist. Their eyes were focused on the woman speaking, the woman he couldn’t see, but could hear clearly. 

“Nobody can possibly reassure you what the future will bring. With the chaos raging through Thedas, who knows if we can guarantee any future at all?” Hawke’s voice was pitched low, soothing. 

“Champion, the Chantry controls the Inquisition. I will not have my people treated like criminals because we chose to stay neutral during the conflict.” An older, stiffer voice responded. 

“The chantry does not control the Inquisition. The Inquisitor does, but regardless I have yet to be treated like a criminal. No chains, prisons, or enforced interrogations. I joined the Inquisition because I wanted to, then I left it again when I was needed elsewhere. I’m returning now because it is where I want to be.” Hawke explained patiently. Varric watched the children’s eyeballs swing from one adult to the other. 

“Your status and...relationship with the Inquisitor’s paramour…” The man began delicately. Varric nearly failed to stifle a laugh. Author, rogue, scoundrel, and the Inquisitor’s arm candy. What more could a man want? 

Hawke laughed too, and it caused smiles to break out on the children’s faces. “I can assure you, if a relationship exists between the Inquisitor and another dwarf, it began after my initial encounter with the Inquisition. But I will neither confirm or deny it.” 

“What about your relationship?” A sharp woman’s voice jeered. “We all know the reputation of your husband, do we not? How can we trust a woman who would take up with someone who despises her kind?” 

He could almost hear Hawke’s glare. “I will not…” 

“I am here, am I not?” Broody broke in, his voice clear and strong. “I do not despise her kind. I despise dangerous and forbidden magic, I despise mages who are weak enough to partake of it. I suggest that any who fall within that definition stay here. I will gladly accompany the young and those who are not foolish to Skyhold.” 

Varric was not entirely certain he agreed with the term “gladly.” It would have been better to say he would consent to do it with only minor snide remarks and a vague, waspish sense of irritation. Before anything more could be said, Varric heard the shattering of glass from his right. A large rock slid to a stop in the center of the grand hallway. All the children turned and stared at it silently. 

“The mob is at your door. Perhaps a decision should be made sooner rather than later.” Fenris remarked stiffly. 

“The Inquisition is prepared to offer you refuge. Inquisitor Cadash will keep her word.” Cassandra stated, pacing to the children’s side and glaring at the rock on the floor, before looking into the shadows and catching sight of Varric. She nodded in acknowledgement, pacing away. 

“I certainly have been treated quite respectfully.” Dorian pointed out cheerfully. “An equal lack of torture and I’ve no history with any dwarf the Inquisitor may or may not be riding like a painted pony.” 

 

Really, there was only one thing to do. Any rational, reasonable person would have seen it. But as the sounds from outside the college grew louder, one voice among the enchanters of the college continued to rail against the Inquisition. The woman who had challenged Hawke for her choice of husband continued to ignore the looming danger outside to treat the Inquisition as Maefarath himself reborn. 

“Tethras, what in the bleedin’ void is taking so long?” Korbin asked, strolling up behind him. Varric had long since given up hiding, choosing instead to pace the grand hall and distract the children who must have been exhausted listening to the circular arguments taking place in front of them. 

“One holdout for leaving.” Varric reported. Korbin nodded wearily. 

“Afraid of that. She’s a shrill one, that witch. She’s the one who’s been holding us up all along. I suspect she’s got sympathies for those Breakers who are killing templars all over Thedas, but we haven’t been able to prove it.” Korbin looked anxiously toward the door. “They are running out of time. Afraid we’re going to have to wrap this up. I’ve got Inquisition soldiers stationed just outside and they’ll fire at my signal, but once the fighting starts, those kids are in the damned way.” 

“Well, time to get moving then.” Varric said lazily, slowly reaching behind him for Bianca. “I’ve got a boat to catch.” 

He strolled straight into the big circular room, once used to host large meetings, now reduced to holding two dozen children and a handful of adults, most of those wizened by age. Hawke raised an eyebrow as he strolled in and Cassandra muttered something that sounded suspiciously like the word ‘finally’. “Waffles, hate to break it to you, but the best thing to do now would be to take those kids and slip out those tunnels. This place is about to go to shit in very, very short order.” 

Hawke turned her burning blue eyes onto the shrill witch, a woman who had ten years at least on Hawke. “You heard the dwarf. Come or don’t come, but I’m taking the kids and whoever else wants to go.” 

“You cannot!” The woman shrieked, grasping Hawke’s arm. “I will not allow it! It is better to die free than…” 

The woman got no further because Hawke’s patience had run dangerously thin. Instead of ripping herself from the woman’s grasping clutches, Hawke stomped one booted foot down hard on the other woman’s foot, then shoved her elbow into the soft flesh of the woman’s stomach, doubling her over. Fenris snorted in amusement. 

“Listen here.” Hawke said slowly, dangerously. “I have just dragged my ass around Thedas in a damn near full circle in the last three months. I am tired, I am hungry, and I am going back to Skyhold. I am going to keep these damn children safe, and I am going to make sure that people like you don’t ruin any further chance of us  _ not _ fucking up the future. You think you’re better than every templar that called you a mage whore, but you’re not. You’re just the other side of the problem and if you ever put your hands anywhere near me again, I will burn them off. Understood?” 

Varric and Fenris were both struggling to contain their barely concealed mirth as the woman straightened, fire in her eyes, before she turned on her heels and fled, a dark streak through the empty room. 

“Well, I don’t know about anyone else, but I am oddly aroused. No?” Dorian asked, looking at Cassandra, who only cradled her head in her hand. 

“Right.” Hawke said brightly, straightening her gauntlet. “Any other objections to the plan?” 

It did not shock Varric that there were none. 

 

“Maker’s taint. What took you so long?” Beatrix asked as Varric slipped back into the cellar, leaping from her perch on a crate.

“Bureaucracy. Doesn’t seem to matter if it’s mages, humans, dwarves, or elves. It always causes some sort of problem.” Varric offered, waving the children in behind him with the few elderly enchanters shepherding them gently. Dorian had one child under each arm and was cooing to them in a sickeningly sweet matter. “Going out the front door is no longer an option. The others are looting the artifacts.” 

“Creepy tunnel it is then.” Beatrix muttered darkly, taking the rope in her hands. “Meet you down there.” 

They helped the elderly enchanters down first, then the teenagers, relying on the adolescents to help ease the younger children down the rope. Some of the youngest ones had to be simply tossed into the waiting arms of the teenagers and Beatrix. The tunnel below him was filled with warm, welcoming light. Orbs hung in mid air, full of magic light that cast the tunnel into something almost comforting. When the last child was settled onto the dirt, Beatrix looked up. “You coming?” She hissed.

“I’ll wait for Hawke, Cassandra, and Broody. Take the kids and get out.” He ordered. Bea hesitated for a moment. 

“Don’t you  _ dare _ die.” She responded. “Don’t you  _ dare _ make me be the one to tell her that.” 

Varric simply offered a sunny smile. He wouldn’t die and leave Maria Cadash waiting for him, it was simply not going to happen. 

Not fifteen minutes later, Hawke, Fenris, and Cassandra approached with the remaining enchanters, one of whom was sporting a rather nasty black eye and Varric looked to Hawke for explanation. “Our new friend from earlier who would rather die free beaned him and took one of the artifacts. Not entirely sure what it was, but the rest of our new friends are pretty certain that these are what the Venatori would be after. They’re all elven magic, but they only know what about half of them do.” Cassandra tossed the bag she was carrying down onto the ground and one of the enchanters winced. 

“Are they valuable?” Varric asked nonchalantly. 

“They are beyond valuable!” One of the mages cried. “Priceless!” 

“Right, keep them away from Isabela and Bea.” Varric muttered, gesturing to the rope. “Shall we make our clean escape? 

“A clean escape.” Hawke sighed wistfully. “I don’t know if I’ve ever made a clean escape before. Is this a fever dream? Has our luck finally turned?” 

 

Varric had to admit, it was nice to get back to the boats and find Isabela waiting looking almost bored. They sailed away from Cumberland without any further theatrics and the worst he could say was that the boat was packed from stern to bow with humans and elves in skirts.

Two days trip across the Waking Sea to Jader. The sea was calm and he’d even caught Varania smiling multiple times as she prowled the deck, nose in the air like a hound scenting the wind. He was even, rather happily, getting his revenge on both Hawke and Fenris for their annoyingly good sea-legs during their first trip across the Waking Sea. It appeared pregnant Hawke did not have the stomach for the ships constant motion and she was miserable and quickly driving Fenris to distraction. 

He should have known it wouldn’t last. He knew it as soon as the ship docked in Jader and he caught sight of the sigil of House Vael on the ships that moved to box them into the harbor before Isabela could even swear. 

He felt himself break into a cold sweat as he hurried into the hold, bursting into the cabin Hawke and Fenris shared. Hawke was already standing, eager to get off the damned boat most likely. Fenris was smiling, truly smiling, his hand resting on the gentle curve of her stomach. “We have problems.” Varric declared hoarsely. “Starkhaven problems.” 

“You have got to be shitting me.” Hawke groaned, pushing forward. Instantly, the elf’s smile dropped. 

“We’re surrounded. Starkhaven troops on the docks, Starkhaven boats pulled in behind us.” He hadn’t seen it coming. Hadn’t dared to think that Sebastian would dare…

“How is he still mad at me?” Hawke demanded. 

“He will not have you.” Fenris promised, his voice heavy with danger. 

They emerged on the deck to an even more perilous situation. Isabela standing proudly on the side of her ship with Beatrix beside her, looking down at the small man on the docks who was arguing with her passionately in a thick Starkhaven burr.

“The former Champion of Kirkwall is to be taken back to Starkhaven immediately to answer for her crimes against the Free Marches.” The man persisted stubbornly. “You are surrounded and carrying refugees. I cannot think you would choose to endanger them…” 

“Tell Sebastian that if he wants to whip them out and measure, he can come see us in person.” Isabela declared dangerously, crossing her arms under her ample bosom. “We will be disembarking unmolested, unless the molesting is the fun kind. If it is the fun kind, I’m willing to negotiate.” 

“I have been authorized to fire on this boat, Serah Hawke.” The Starkhaven man said, catching sight of Hawke as she slid into place beside Isabela. “I know you do not wish additional loss of life to be laid on your conscience.” 

“Good old Sebastian.” Hawke muttered. “Always looking out for my conscience.”

“This ship is under the protection of the Inquisition!” Cassandra shouted back, fingers clutching her sword. “Any attack will be considered provocation.” 

“I can only assume the Inquisitor does not know the criminals that are on your ship, lady Seeker. I believe she would welcome the chance for their crimes to be exposed and for divine judgement…” 

“Oh, the Inquisitor knows.” A clear, sharp voice cut in. Sultry as a bedroom promise, ringing with the authority of a queen. The crowd behind the man from Starkhaven rippled and from behind raised pikes, a massive Qunari appeared with a smug, shit eating grin. He was not pushing the crowd aside, however, but following in the wake of someone else. Someone significantly smaller. 

She was more beautiful than the last time he had seen her, her red hair unbound completely and laying across her shoulders, gray eyes sweeping imperiously over the scene before latching onto the Starkhaven commander. “Should I assume you’re the one who ordered this drama?” 

“Who in the void…” The man started. Beatrix started to cackle from her perch by Isabela. 

“I  _ am _ Inquisitor Cadash. And I would like an explanation as to why Prince Vael has found it necessary to blockade one of my suppliers, threaten my sister, and scare innocent children half to death. It certainly does not seem the actions of a pious man.” Maria was shrugging off her gloves, the green mark snapping against her palm as proof of who she was, what she had accomplished. The dwarf who had Thedas waiting for her every action with baited breath. “I would advise you to stand down before my companion here gets cranky. Then I’m going to stay here and watch your ships leave port.” 

“Inquisitor, you cannot possibly condone the actions of this apostate!” The man blustered. 

“Bull, if he doesn’t make the order, I’d recommend starting with his kneecaps.” Maria said blandly, crossing her arms.

“Boss, you know I’d rather start at the top.” Bull complained. “By chopping off an ear.” 

There was a tense moment, but Varric was unsurprised when the man signaled a retreat to his troops, throwing a glare at Maria that she ignored. 

He was surprised when Maria approached the ship, eyes sparkling as she looked up into their faces. “Throw me a rope, Bea.” She commanded, slipping her glove back on.

“Inquisitor! There are people watching, you cannot climb up the side of a boat like a… like a…” Cassandra stuttered, flushing. 

“Like a common criminal?” Maria asked. 

“A carta rat?” Beatrix chimed in, lowering a rope over the edge of the ship and into Maria’s agile fingers. Varric pushed his way to the other side of the rope, holding it in his hands. Maria climbed it gracefully, but he couldn’t wait for her to clamber over the side on her own. Instead, he pulled her the rest of the way up and she laughed. Now that she was closer, he could see the marks of her worry, dark smudges under her grey eyes, a certain brittleness in her smile, a sallow undertone to her skin. It didn’t matter, she was still the loveliest thing he’d ever seen and he felt giddy and foolish, like a lovestruck youth again with his hands on her waist tugging her to his chest. “Hello sailor.” She purred into his ear, resting her chin on his shoulder. 

She smelled like the dust from the road, like the spiced ale that was her favorite and the tang of the magic that always lingered on her palm. 

He pulled her back again to stare down into those stormy gray eyes, alight with emotions that were intoxicating and dangerous and more than anything he had ever wanted. And finally, his eyes tugged down to the long chain around her neck supporting his signet ring. 

There was only one thing left to say and it didn’t matter he had a rapt audience. It had gone unsaid for far too long. He pulled her back again, crushing her against him and whispered it into her hair. 

“I love you.” 

He felt her smile against his neck. 


	62. The Inquisitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris considers his sister, his old friend, and the Inquisitor he must trust.

 

Fenris had many things to consider upon the boat as they crossed the Waking Sea. He was leaving northern Thedas once again on the Siren's Revenge steered by Isabela's more than capable hands. He had, improbably, rescued yet more mages from certain death at Hawke's side. He had returned and left (blessedy, still free) from Tevinter. 

He was going to be a father, the evidence in the rounded curve of Hawke’s stomach. His sister would occasionally call his name and he would remember he was a brother. And Sabina would rest her head against his shoulder or leg like a colt at heel, and he was a favored uncle. He was both a hero and a cherished husband. 

Those words were too cumbersome, too heavy for a slave to carry. 

Most amazingly of all, he no longer felt as if the heart in his chest belonged to a slave, broken, bruised, scarred and miserable. 

He felt the same sense of freedom that took Sabina as she stood at the helm with Isabela at her back, the pirate allowing the child the pretense of steering and ordering the crew while Varania paced the deck with small, hopeful smiles in her daughter's direction in between anxious glances south. 

He felt the freedom of the six mage children also on board the ship with them, the others loaded onto the rest of Admiral Isabela's fleet, whose childish games of spotting animals in the clouds made even the Seeker smile. 

He imagined this was how Hawke had felt strolling through Kirkwall with her impossible smile and gloriously inappropriate jokes. 

He wished Hawke shared his good humor, but her pregnancy illness had returned with a vengeance upon the rolling sea and she only desperately muttered both curses and pleas to the Maker that they would reach shore before she threw up her own organs. She also once railed against Fenris himself and Varania had to take charge of soothing her while Fenris took Sabina to the deck and let her look, delighted, over the glimmering blue sea. 

Isabela had taken that chance, when he was alone, to question their decision to bring Varania. To give a second chance to the only family Fenris had. “She isn't your only family.” Isabela pouted stubbornly. “I just don't want to see you hurt. Again.” Isabela's eyes were dark with a warring tumult of emotions. 

“I remember her. Only pieces. But I remember…” He remembered so many frayed strings. One day in Nevarra he had recalled with stunning clarity that Varania loved oranges, had always loved them. He knew she had a beautiful singing voice and he also knew she wouldn't sing again, even if he asked. That memory was tied, somehow, to a closet and blood.  

She was funny in her own way, particularly when she thought no one was paying attention. Perhaps not a match for Hawke’s wit if they went word to word, but he’d enjoyed listening to her little barbs.

Once, when Varania was a child of Sabina's age, he had stolen flowers from the Master's garden for her birthday. 

Their mother had resented Varania’s magic, but he’d loved her and Varania had cried when they parted, big choking tears that had splashed into the dust. There were holes in the memories, frustratingly large ones, but he remembered Varania. He knew her.

“Be careful.” Isabela pleaded, ruffling Sabina's curls. 

“Can I be a pirate?” The girl asked brightly, joy in every syllable, as clear as those songs he only half remembered. 

“Of course you can. I'll come get you when you're fifteen and we'll chase that horizon together little first mate.” Isabela crooned. 

“Fifteen is a bit young Bela.” Hawke said from behind them. “Isn't it pup? Your momma would miss you.” 

He looked over his shoulder, saw Hawke looking apologetic and clutching onto Varania's elbow while Varania shook her head fondly.

“Mama can come too.” Sabina pronounced sagely.

“And where will we go?” Varania asked, passing Hawke to Fenris and scooping Sabina into her arms, allowing the child to see far over the deck and into the wide blue ocean, tucking a stray curl behind Sabina's pointed earlobe.

“Until the sky ends.” Sabina answered, pointing into the horizon happily, to the line where ocean and sky met and became one.

“That is exactly how it starts. Chasing the horizon.” Isabela gave a throaty chuckle, shaking her head affectionately. “Say goodbye to your little rebel. She'll follow Auntie Bela's footsteps.” 

“And why should she not go where she wishes?” Varania asked hotly with a fierce flash of her green eyes, pressing her lips to Sabina's ear and asking, in Tevene, what Sabina would name her ship. Fenris struggled not to smirk in Isabela’s general direction when he tucked his wife against his chest, hands immediately going to the gentle curve of her stomach. 

 

Then there was Sebastian, his friend. His enemy. Varric was correct that there was no one who could be a more bitter enemy than someone you had first stood and fought beside. The stupid priest made prince, too foolish with grief to notice the first place Hawke looked after the chantry exploded was over her shoulder, searching and verifying that yes, Sebastian was with them on that terrible final day. 

Sebastian had not been as alone in his grief as he thought himself now, in hindsight. Hawke had dedicated her life to protecting Kirkwall, the nightmare demon had taunted her with her failure in the fade. Varric had struggled to right the city in their absence, his beloved hometown. Aveline had stayed, would always stay, to fight the rising chaos. And Fenris…

Well, once he had told Aveline the city made him feel, and that had been a surprise in and of itself. Aveline had chuckled in delight, looking under her eyelashes toward Donnic, and said she knew what he meant. If Fenris had ever had a home, it was in Kirkwall, curled up with a book in front of Hawke’s fireplace while she chatted amiably with her never-ending stream of visitors until the day ended and she fell into his lap, displacing the book and demanding his attention.

Sebastian’s grief had  been shared, although none of them had loved Elthina as he had. They had loved Kirkwall, had considered Sebastian a friend. 

Fasta vass, it was not their fault that the abomination had done what he had done. 

And yet, Fenris knew how hate could worm its way into your heart and poison everything. He knew how agony and grief could cause that hate. And he didn’t feel anger when he watched the Starkhaven ships turn and flee under the steely gaze of the Inquisitor. He felt something else entirely, a deep well of sadness that was without end. 

If he must fight Sebastian, Fenris would. He would do whatever it took to protect his family. But he knew he would not find any joy or peace in it. 

 

Finally, and perhaps the most pressing issue to consider, was the Inquisitor herself. In Adamant, he had barely found time to consider her as he spent too much time reeling from the betrayal of the Wardens, focusing on salvaging his marriage, and getting Hawke away from the constant danger she found herself in.

Now, he had to put their futures in her hands. So far, nobody had mentioned Hawke’s pregnancy, but it was a state that could not last. Fenris was lucky that the bigger concern for both the altus and Seeker Pentaghast seemed to be a shocked disbelief that the Inquisitor had come to Jader alone except for the Iron Bull. This had not become completely evident until the Qunari had finally tracked down a sputtering Inquisition soldier who had blabbered apologies for not knowing of Inquisitor Cadash’s arrival. Or travel plans. Or truly, anything. 

“Who knows you are here?” Cassandra demanded as the soldier scampered away to set up tents and guards for the caravan of refugees that needed to go to Skyhold. 

“Well, I’m sure everyone will soon.” The Inquisitor answered breezily. Varric had bit back a groan. 

“You simply ordered a fleet of ships to leave without any Inquisition support? No soldiers? Spies?” Dorian asked, aghast. The qunari chuckled. 

“Can’t believe how easy it was, to be honest. Did you see them run? I thought we’d have a little bit of a fight, at least.” Iron Bull whistled low in his throat, shaking his head in cheerful disbelief. 

“I am very, very good at bluffing.” The Inquisitor grinned, but Cassandra’s face continued to harden into a mask of disapproval. “Oh Cass, I’m sure Leliana has people just about caught up to me. I got the letter and I wasn’t going to wake up the whole fortress for it. Bull came with me and Cole’s around somewhere.” 

“You could have been killed.” Cassandra pointed out. 

“But I wasn’t!” She protested cheerfully. “I have yet to die in much more dire situations, I think I can survive an unsupervised jaunt into Orlais.”    
Varric sighed, rubbing his forehead. Fenris could not help interjecting. “You risked all our lives on a bluff?”

“A damned fine bluff.” The Inquisitor corrected. “What other choice was there?” 

“Bold plan. I approve.” Isabela grinned, throwing one arm around the small woman’s shoulders. “And I have questions.” 

“No.” Varric, Beatrix, Hawke, and Cassandra all said at once. 

 

They established a camp just outside of Jader while waiting for an armed escort from Skyhold, tents and food appearing as if by magic while Inquisitor Cadash met personally with the senior enchanters from the College of Magi and Hawke, listening to their concerns patiently. 

“I can’t promise what the future will look like, but I think the mages have proved themselves as allies in the fight against Corypheus. The situation, as it stands, is that there are nowhere near enough templars left to reinstate the old system of circles. In my opinion, whatever occurs after the new divine is elected will have to be different because there are few other options.” The Inquisitor was rubbing gentle circles into her palm, a gesture Varric was watching with a frown. “I believe I’ll be in a position for a long while to offer shelter to all the mages at Skyhold under current conditions. There are templars there, and there are mages. The mages govern themselves and the templars do not guard the mages, but are experts on maleficarum and are assisting us with the fight against the Venatori. I assume should I end up with abominations at Skyhold, the templars would do their jobs.”

“And this...system is working?” A senior enchanter asked, frowning. “There are no abuses?” 

“If there are, I want to know about them. Personally. So far, everyone seems happy.” The Inquisitor shrugged, and for just a second a flicker of something crossed her face. Fenris would have called it pain, but it was gone so quickly he may have imagined it. Hawke appeared not to have noticed, but Varric’s frown had deepened. “I’m glad to have you.” The Inquisitor said sincerely. 

“Everyone has to  be tired, Inquisitor.” Varric said smoothly. “Let them rest and get their bearings.” 

“Wait, there is just one other thing…” One of the enchanters looked awkward, shifty, pulling a leaflet from his bag. “This was...disseminated through the college. It is about you, it makes accusations that the mages in Skyhold were enslaved.” 

The Inquisitor sighed, holding out her hand. The other was clasped tightly, and was that the one with the pulsing mark? It was hard for him to remember, and the Inquisitor’s leather gloves hid any evidence. Her eyes narrowed when she took the papers, lips pursing. 

“I didn’t see any evidence the rebel mages were enslaved.” Hawke said, crossing her arms over her chest. “The Inquisitor was building them a research tower at their request…” 

“The tower is done now.” The Inquisitor interrupted, flipping through some of the pages. Then she turned away from Varric, gray eyes fastening on Fenris. “Ser Fenris, can you take a look at this and confirm who wrote it?” 

“Why Fenris?” Hawke asked, perplexed.

“Neutral party. Varric is most certainly on my side, you’re standing with the mages. Poor Fenris is over there in the corner. May as well put him to work.” She smiled, handing the papers to him. Fenris took a step forward, curiosity getting the better of him. When he looked down and saw the mad, spidery handwriting covering the parchment he nearly growled. Yes, he knew this damned handwriting. It had littered Hawke’s estate in copies of that blighted manifesto. 

In the interest of making sure the inside of the pamphlet matched the outside, he opened it. His eyes fell upon the bolded paragraph in the center and Fenris knew, instantly, why the Inquisitor had handed it to him and not Varric. 

 

_ The only solution to the problem of the tyrannical chantry is to remove it completely. The Inquisitor and their so-called Herald of Andraste cannot be part of the solution, oppressors can never see through the lens of their victims. If their Inquisitor insists on assisting the Chantry regain control over the mages, then the Inquisitor has taken the place of the Divine and must be removed for justice to prevail.  _

 

“It is the abomination.” Fenris stated. “Anders.” Calling for her death, her removal. And his words in the hands of these mages. 

“One of ours was part of the group that called themselves the Breakers. She advocated...well, she left. When the champion arrived.” The enchanter continued uneasily. “She tried to recruit others, but I do not believe she succeeded.” 

If she had, the Inquisitor was about to welcome snakes into her bosom and she knew it. She knew and smiled anyway. “I’m glad you’ve told me. I don’t think the Inquisition or the mages can demand trust without it in return. Trust me, and I will trust you in return.” The enchanter’s shoulders sagged in relief and Hawke beamed, but Fenris felt the blade between his shoulders again and scowled at the Inquisitor in frustration. “May I keep this? I’m starting a collection of his writings, it seems.” The Inquisitor held up the pamphlet and the enchanter nodded. 

“And what if one of them is part of this group of fanatics?” Fenris asked when the enchanters left, glaring down at the dwarf. 

“Broody, leave it.” Varric warned. 

“He’s a right to be concerned. They’re after him too, aren’t they?” The Inquisitor said reasonably. 

“Too?” Varric asked. The Inquisitor sighed, passing the pamphlet to him. 

“It’s the first time I’ve seen a call for my death in writing, but Leliana’s heard rumblings.” She explained. “I’m not surprised.”

Varric’s eyes were whizzing across the paper. Hawke frowned, uneasily examining the entrance to the tent. The Inquisitor reclined back, her gray eyes steady on his own. “I trust Leliana will find out if anyone is acting suspicious. I won’t let concern for my own safety make me turn children out in the cold.” 

Such sentiments were well and good, Fenris thought, if he was not relying on this woman for so much. This stranger. 

This stranger that Varric loved, that Varric trusted, that Hawke respected. Perhaps that was enough.

“Hawke is pregnant.” He said softly, letting the words roll into the room. Maria tore her worried gaze from Varric to him, then to Hawke.

“No you’re not.” She stated immediately. At Hawke’s silence, the Inquisitor swore. “Maker’s balls. Did you really think  _ now _ was the best time to make a baby? And in  _ Tevinter _ no less?” 

“It was not exactly planned.” Fenris remarked wryly. 

“I would bloody well think not!” The small dwarf exclaimed. “Did neither of you learn how babies happen? I’ve got an elf at skyhold who has a peach and would be more than happy to show you. Andraste’s great flaming ass.” 

“So, can we stay with you?” Hawke asked brightly, smiling as charmingly as she could. “At least until my little broody baby makes her grand appearance.” 

“Her?” Fenris asked, feeling his own brows knit together. “Who has said it is a her?” 

“I decided.” Hawke stated, resting her hand over her stomach and batting her eyelashes at the Inquisitor. “We can call her Maria. Maybe as a middle name, though, because I’d rather not picture Varric moaning my child’s name.” 

“Oh, we always use titles in bed.” The Inquisitor responded wickedly. Fenris couldn’t help the small groan that he let out. 

“I do not need to be involved in this conversation.” Fenris began. Varric was shaking his head, eyes still glued to the paper.

“I’d prefer both of you stay out of my bed, thank you very much.” Varric’s eyes flicked from the paper to the Inquisitor, and a small smile played around his lips. “She’s lying, by the way. She already promised to name the kid Varric.” 

“That is also not going to happen.” Fenris interrupted, watching as the Inquisitor clenched her hand again. “Perhaps Hawke should look at your hand.”

This startled the Inquisitor, a woman he did not think used to being surprised often. She did not ask how he knew her hand pained her. A woman who bluffed so masterfully to send the fleet of Starkhaven to the wind must be aware of her own tells, but she had not anticipated that Fenris would note them. “I’d like that, Princess.” Varric said smoothly. 

“Well, anything for you.” The Inquisitor smirked, shucking off her glove with a few smooth gestures. 

The green pulsing magic burned against his own lyrium markings and caused him to take a reflexive step back. Hawke’s slim fingers probed the skin around it and she hissed in displeasure. “This is  _ bad _ . What have you been doing?” 

“The usual. Sealing rifts, saving people, killing bad guys.” The Inquisitor answered breezily. “It has been a rough week or so.” 

Varric winced, finally shoving the papers into his coat pocket and turning to the Inquisitor, sighing at the angry red skin and pulsing magic. “It’s worse when she doesn’t sleep properly. And when she’s upset.” 

Fenris could feel the tingle of cooling magic laced over the angry skin. “Well, at least my hand isn’t the only thing wanting to kill me, am I right?” The Inquisitor brought her free arm up to Varric’s and laid her palm over his elbow. “Stop frowning, that’s an order.” 

“Does it hurt all the time?” Hawke asked. 

“No.” The Inquisitor lied, her eyes flicking to Fenris past the two heads staring into her palm with a challenge, as if daring him to give her secret away. To tell the two people there that there was no way in the void that Fenris believed that sparking magic embedded in her skin didn’t ache at even the best of times like the lyrium lining his skin. 

Fenris said nothing, he simply nodded. And the Inquisitor smiled in return. “Of course you can stay, by the way. As long as you like. My suitably impressive fortress in the middle of nowhere is your suitably impressive fortress.” 

 

They approached Skyhold on the fourth day since they had landed at Jader, two days after saying goodbye to Isabela and Beatrix. Fenris rode on the horse that appeared to have been given to Varania. Sabina was with Hawke, listening intently to one of Varric’s stories. 

“And then, the pride demon reared back and drove it’s fist into the ground. Electricity everywhere, kiddo. All around us, trebuchets firing, the whole keep was on fire…” 

“I don’t believe the entire keep was on fire. About three-fourths or so.” Maria interrupted from her pony beside Varric. Iron Bull snorted. 

Varric continued, nonplussed. “Your amita was about to get crushed by a huge foot, when out of nowhere…” 

“I grabbed my staff and hit it on the kneecap!” Hawke claimed, laughing. The Inquisitor  laughed as well and Fenris almost did until Varania jerked the horse’s reins a bit too quickly and he had to grip her waist to prevent them both from falling off. 

“Fasta vass, why are you so impatient?” Fenris demanded quietly. 

“I am not impatient!” Varania protested, easing up with a smile that managed to both be infuriating and contrite. 

“I don’t remember that happening.” Varric chuckled. 

“Where was patruus?” Sabina demanded. 

“Fighting off twelve shades all by himself.” Varric confided. “And yelling at your amita ‘festis bei umo canavarum.” 

Fenris could not help the smirk and he felt Varania’s shoulders shake with a suppressed laugh of her own. Sabina turned to Hawke with a grin of her own, clutching at the red cloak with the spinning silver embroidery running almost the whole way around the hood now, a product of Varania’s need to always have something in her hands. “That means you’ll be the death of me.” 

“Thank you, pup. I hear that phrase a fair amount.” Hawke laughed, shaking her head. The Inquisitor had descended into uncontrolled giggles.

“I cannot, for the life of me, imagine why.” Dorian remarked. 

“Inquisitor!” A shout cut through the merriment and made the Inquisitor flinch. Where there had been no one, a single red head was standing in the path. Behind her, just in the distance, Fenris could see the rising towers of Skyhold. “A word, if you please?” 

“Leliana.” Maria said as warmly as she could, slipping from her mount. “I can explain.” 

“Explanations are not necessary. You foolishly took off in the middle of the night with no word, no sign, snuck past all of my agents, and vanished as if the Inquisition meant little to you.” The woman crossed her arms over her chest and the Inquisitor sighed. “It is your own foolish good luck that you were not set upon by Maker knows what as soon as you left these gates. I only wish to know how exactly you managed to sneak past four of my agent to get out of Skyhold in the first place.” 

“Four?” Maria began, perplexed. “Well, dumb luck certainly played a role in it. Where in the Maker are you hiding the fourth at? I thought for sure there were only three.” 

“This is not a joking matter!” The other woman protested. 

“Am I a prisoner in my own castle, then?” The Inquisitor bristled. “The only person who can’t come and go as she pleases?” 

“You know your worth.” Leliana argued. “You know what would happen if you perished.” 

“We’re all dying, Leliana.” The Inquisitor muttered, shoving past. “Void take you if you think I’ll die in a cage.” 

“I blame you!” Leliana spat at the large qunari, then rounded on Varric. “And you!”

“You can’t keep treating her like the mark on her hand.” Varric responded, slipping from his own mount.

“And it is so easy to make them two seperate things, no?” Leliana asked, eyes glinting with fury. “You’ll find out someday that the two are not as different as you would like.”

“And you are sure this is the safest place in Thedas?” Varania asked quietly, her hands firm on the reins. 

“No.” He answered, leaning back as they exited the last of the trees and stood in front of the great bridge leading to Skyhold, the Inquisitor already halfway across it where scouts and troops sprang to attention. “But it is a start.” 


	63. Wardens and Towers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varania settles into Skyhold, becomes a knight, and meets a Warden.

 

The boy with the broad brimmed hat gave her two oranges on her second day in Skyhold. He pressed them into her hands with a shy, sweet smile. “It is colder here, and you miss the sound of the ocean. But it will be home soon, I think.” 

He’d vanished up the steps and left her with the two pieces of fruit. She’d prodded them suspiciously until Sabina awoke and demanded one for herself. When Varania popped a slice of the sweet, juicy citrus into her mouth, she could not help but smile. 

In truth, she hated Skyhold viciously. And loved it passionately. Her outlook seemed to change depending on the direction of the wind or the time of day. Her room was just off the garden, within shouting distance of Fenris and Reyna, with only a handful of steps for Sabina to totter down each day before she lunged, breathless with joy, into the gaggles of women in chantry garb, scattering them like brightly colored birds. The Inquisitor grew herbs there, healing ones mostly, and their scent brought back memories she would prefer not to linger on. She had avoided herb gardens for so long, she could not help but wish she could avoid that one, but Sabina adored it. 

Varania did enjoy the spectacular view of the mountains from the battlements, and hated the stairs she had to trudge up and down each day. She was fascinated by the casual use of magic by all the mages, and terrified she would look up and see a Magister peering down at her. And, perhaps most perplexing, was that no one had asked her for anything. 

Varania was not used to being idle. She was also not used to being recognized, and yet...

 

Four days after their arrival, they had been informed they were to be awarded honors and titles. Fenris and Varania had objected, strenuously, to the cheerful and calm woman with the clipboard that Varric called Ruffles. Hawke had cackled deliciously in the background and reminded Fenris, rather smugly, that he had thought it a great laugh when she’d been named Champion of Kirkwall. 

It had not ended until finally, the Inquisitor herself had to be called to the quarters Reyna and Fenris shared. The small woman was struggling not to laugh, but she shrugged in nonchalance. “The Archon would like to know why I aided a band of Tevinter criminals in escaping. I’d like to write back that I aided a band of heroes stopping the resurrection of an archdemon in Tevinter borders. Think of it this way, it’ll make any of those asses think twice before trying to nab either of you or your progeny if they know you’re knights of the Inquisition.” 

There was a daring and bold part of Varania that wanted to argue she had only fought to save her ill daughter, there had been no greater purpose. It was what she had told the ambassador, but the woman had simply shrugged and stated that did not make their victory any less heroic. 

Which is how she ended up wearing a gown more costly than anything she’d ever worn before, all shimmering cobalt silk and gold embroidery swirling around the waist. It reminded her of younger days when she had held up fine silks to her skin and imagined beautiful gowns instead of worn cotton. She was listening to the Inquisitor give a perfect speech about their victory at the Battle of the Silent Plains. She struggled not to fidget with the silk draping over her pale arms. Beside her, Varric could barely contain his laughter, and Fenris looked a bit as if he may be ill on her left. Seeker Pentaghast and the altus were also present, along with Lucia who sat between her and Fenris. 

The Inquisitor herself stepped forward with the ambassador following, holding a pillow stacked with wreaths. They were made of Prophet’s laurel, she could smell it from where she stood, her palms clammy. 

“Easy, Spitfire.” Varric muttered. “Almost over, look at Bean. She thinks you’re a hero.”

She let her eyes flick to the crowd, to Sabina grinning and shifting from foot to foot in excitement, dazzled by the pageantry and grandeur. She waved brightly, then looked up at Hawke to make sure that yes, Reyna had seen. Hawke knelt down to listen to Sabina, holding the child’s hands. 

“I’d like to honor all of you as the victors of the Battle of the Silent Plains and thank you for your service to Thedas. I would like to induct you as the first members of the Order of Andraste’s Wolves.” Despite herself, Varania felt a flicker of a smile and observed the heated flush up the back of Fenris’s neck in his borrowed black silk finery. 

The Inquisitor started with the Altus, laughing as he whispered something quietly when she pinned the order on his jacket. “Bend over.” She ordered quietly, and the altus bowed with a flourish to allow her to place the wreath on his head, careful not to mess his dark waves. The Qunari beside the Inquisitor’s throne, the Iron Bull, winked at the altus. “Ser Dorian Pavus, Knight of the Order.” The Inquisitor announced, taking a step back. The crowd burst into applause and the Inquisitor repeated the ritual with the Seeker, who looked as awkward as Varania felt. 

“Seeker Cassandra Allegra Portia…” The Inquisitor began, unable to stop herself from grinning. 

“On with it, Cadash.” The Seeker growled quietly. Varania heard a high pitched cackle from behind them. 

“Pentaghast. Knight of the Order.” The Inquisitor said graciously, winking as she moved to Fenris, looking up into his face with an amused and incredulous expression. 

“I have to admit.” She said softly, taking the pin in her hand. “I thought you’d both abscond before you allowed this.” 

“We were tempted.” Fenris answered, looking down at the shining silver pin on the doublet, a wolf over a sword. The Inquisitor waited for a moment, then another, before grinning. 

“Fenris, I can’t reach your head and I need to put this wreath there. So unless you’d like me to throw it…” She offered. With a muttered, quiet curse that was muffled by Varric’s snort of laughter, Fenris ducked his head just long enough for the Inquisitor to place the wreath. He shot a look of barely concealed panic to Reyna, who only smiled and nodded in approval. “Ser Fenris Hawke, Knight of the Order.” 

And then the woman looked to the dog, the mabari as tall as she was easily. “Unfortunately, I was informed Mabari are not typically inducted into orders, Lucia.” The Inquisitor began. Lucia whined in reproach. “But, I have a crown for you anyway. And a steak waiting for you later.” 

The dog’s tail wiggled and Lucia gave a sharp bark of joy that caused laughter from behind them as the Inquisitor gently laid the wreath over the dog’s pointed ears.

Then the Inquisitor was in front of her, pinning the shining silver pin to the borrowed gown (“Your’s now, darling.” The bald woman had sniffed. “It is good to have something decent to wear.”) Then the Inquisitor winked and looked over her shoulder. “Sabina, will you help with your mother’s?” 

Her daughter was beyond Reyna’s reach in an instant, smiling shyly as she reached for the wreath the Inquisitor handed her. “Mama, I can’t reach.” Sabina said softly. 

“Yes, dulce meum.” Varania said, automatically, the words out before she even understood them as she flicked the silk out of her way with a twitch of her wrist and knelt to Sabina’s level, allowing her daughter to crown her in victory. “Pulchra.” Sabina breathed, smiling, eyes glowing with the light from the fine stained glass windows. 

“Thank you, Bina.” Varania said graciously, pulling Sabina’s body close to hers and engulfing her in an embrace as she stood. 

“Ser Varania of Minrathous, Knight of the Order, and her daughter Sabina.” The Inquisitor declared, smiling brightly as she moved on. Sabina reached out chubby fingers to touch the laurel leaves above her brow and grinned.

“Princess.” Varric greeted softly, his eyes warm as honey. 

“Rogue.” The Inquisitor replied, her fingers lingering just seconds longer than they had after pinning any of the others. She was still smiling, sweet and soft, when she reached back for the wreath. Varric was the only one who needed only to bow his head instead of bend completely, but he made up for it by capturing the Inquisitor’s hand when she withdrew it and pressing a quick kiss to the back of her glove with a charming, only slightly apologetic smile. 

“And a scoundrel, Inquisitor. Don’t forget it.” Varric added. 

 

After the ceremony, there was a feast, and Varania could not bear it. She felt as if everyone was staring at her, their gazes perhaps not hostile, but seeking, searching, and for what? She was no hero, she knew that. And yet, every time she stared longingly towards the door she was introduced to someone else until the names blurred and she felt a dull pounding in her head. Even when Sabina fell asleep in Hawke’s lap, the ambassador insisted she allow Hawke to take the girl to bed and meet Count...something. 

Maker, it was as bad as Tevinter. “Why do they not clamor for your attention?” Varania demanded of Fenris as she broke away from the ambassador, again. Fenris looked at her, askance. 

“I imagine it is because they know me. You are unknown.” He observed, then shrugged. “You also look much prettier than I do, undoubtedly. Or perhaps I look more intimidating.” 

Varania was more apt to agree to the later point. Across the room, the altus leaned against the wall and inspected a glass of wine. The Inquisitor sat perched on the armrest of her throne, deep in conversation with a tall man wearing some sort of feathered coat. Varric had started up some game of cards that Fenris was observing. When Varania looked up again, she saw the Ambassador steering a young, plump woman in her direction. Varania cast another look at the door, measuring the distance. 

“Is that the duchess?” The altus cried, rushing in. “I haven’t seen you since that debacle in the Dales. How is your mansion faring?” 

Varania froze like a beggar caught pickpocketing, watching as the altus smoothly led both the ambassador and the duchess away. With a furtive glance over his shoulder, he jerked his pointed chin in her direction and then towards the door. 

“Looks like Sparkler just gave you an out. I’d take it if I were you.” Varric observed, hiding his grin behind his cards. “You may not get a better one.” 

It galled her to take this offered opportunity, and it frightened her. She clenched her jaw, fingers tightening in her silk gown. “He is not a… bad man.” Fenris admitted, his own jaw tight with tension. “You are safe here, it is not a trap. Go if you please, I will catch up to both you and Reyna soon.” 

Her longing to flee won out, and she rushed for the doors, slipping into the great cool night and choking down the clean air, without the fumes of perfume or the guttering smoke of candles. She could see down the steps easily in the moonlight, slipping down the steps into the courtyard, empty for the most part except for some scouts lounging and a ruckus from inside the tavern. 

She would have to go the long way around, and it was cold, but she was so glad to be free of the stares she would have walked barefoot and without a stitch of clothing back to her rooms. Instead, she made her way to the outer walls, following the rough stone down another set of steps, past the empty shop stalls. She meant to slip round the kitchen, but was distracted by a warm light in the stables. She had been too busy to stop and say hello to Tyrus with the damned gown and the damned ceremony and the endless dinner. Guilt roiled and she changed her course, slipping towards the light. 

It was not much warmer inside the stables, only mildly sheltered from the wind and gooseflesh still prickled up and down her arms, barely covered at all by the silk. With focused determination, she slipped down the stalls until she found his, her horse’s. Her fingers were too numb to unlatch the stall door and she fumbled, cursing, enough to draw Tyrus’s attention and he whickered, his warm breath welcome on her neck. 

“Ah, there you are.” She whispered. “Bonum est tibi?  Sabina te desideravi.” 

She ran her fingers through the silky mane, whispering in Tevene about the awful ceremony, the people staring. It was not until Tyrus neighed, tossing his head back that Varania realized she was not alone and turned to look over her shoulder, one hand reaching for a sword hilt she did not have. 

“Easy.” The man’s voice was a low rumble, his arms out to either side. “Didn’t mean to startle you. Just wanted to see who it was.” 

Her heartbeat pulsed in her throat and she had to swallow twice before she could speak. “I am, this is my horse.” She stated, lifting her chin. 

The man chuckled, reaching for a lantern and fiddling with it for several long moments before he lit it, holding it up to illuminate the horses and Varania. And himself, which made her relax slightly against the wooden stall.

“Thought it was you. Only woman here who speaks that tongue, right?” The man asked, hanging the lantern. “Wasn’t expecting you here, but you’ve got every right to be. Figured you’d be up there all night.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder briskly. 

“I would rather not be.” Varania answered. “Warden… Warden Blackwall, correct? One of the Inquisitor’s advisors?” 

“That’s me. And you’re Ser Varania now, right?” The man’s beard twitched. “What is the correct address for a newly minted knight? My lady?” 

“It was nothing glorious.” Varania contradicted stubbornly. “It was only a battle. I should not have even been there.” 

“Battle usually isn’t glorious.” Blackwall agreed, scratching at his beard. “And heroes are often found in the very last places they should be.” 

She had not blushed during the ceremony, but she felt the color rising to her cheeks now and looked down at her trembling fingers. 

“Maker’s balls, you must be freezing.” Blackwall growled. “Here, there’s a fire just outside. I’ll get you a blanket. Pretty as that dress is, it can’t be practical.” 

The dress was pretty, yes. Beautiful even, and she knew it made her skin glow like moonlight. She could not hide anything that fine under a horse blanket, no matter if she froze to death. “That is not necessary.” Varania protested. “I was returning to my chambers, the long way I’m afraid. I need to check on my daughter.” 

“Right. Sabina, yes? Sweet girl. I actually…” He shoved his hand into his pocket and retrieved something small and wooden, holding it out to Varania. She held her hand out and allowed him to drop a small wooden horse into her palm. “Carved that in my free time. She may like it.” 

Sabina would adore it, Varania thought as she ran her cold fingers over the smooth surface. “Thank you. It is very kind of you.” 

“I’m sure it’s the least I could do.” The man responded gruffly. “I’ll escort you to the kitchens if that’s where you were heading.” 

Varania nodded, patting the horse’s head one last time before straightening. Gallantly, the Warden offered his arm with a kind smile and Varania was, for the first time, able to examine his eyes in the flickering lamplight. Dark as a moonless night, but shining with kindness and something quietly mournful. She muttered her thanks again as she took his arm.

Varania was almost warm when she made it back to her rooms, Sabina stretched out on her bed with one candle burning low on the desk Varania could not use. Hawke sat on the edge of the bed, reclining luxuriously with an open book of fairy stories, a gift from the Inquisitor, on her lap.

“Thank the Maker, I’m as exhausted as she was.” Reyna yawned, standing. “I know you hate to hear it, but you do look amazing in that get up. Like an Elven goddess.”

“Do you know much about Elven goddesses?” Varania asked, half amused and half exhausted. 

“I’m sure there’s one that’s bad tempered and can’t take a compliment.” Hawke replied with her ever cheerful aplomb, then yawned. “Maker, it’s been a long evening. She likes the one about the bears in the house, by the way.” Reyna indicated the book, twirling her fingers lightly in the air. 

Varania could not hide the longing when she looked down at the leather cover, a picture of a dragon on the front. And even if she could hide it, she knew Reyna was much too quick at finding these soft bruises and tending to them, whether or not they wanted to be tended. “The offer is still open, Varania.” 

“Fine then.” Varania said dismissively. “You can teach Sabina and I will listen in, if it will make you happy.” 

Reyna only laughed, shaking her head in exasperation as she slipped out the door, leaving Sabina and Varania alone. And Varania took Reyna’s spot on the bed and placed the smooth wooden horse on the pillow beside Sabina’s sleeping head, right where she would be sure to find it in the morning. “I’ve missed you, dulce meum.” Varania whispered, placing a gentle kiss on Sabina’s forehead. “Te amo, Sabina.” 

And then Varania slipped out of the blue silk dress, folding it carefully and stashing it in the nearly empty chest at the edge of the separate, larger bed. She could not help letting her fingers linger over the silk longingly before she shook her head and pulled on her warmer, worn cotton shift and slipped underneath the thick quilts. She luxuriated in the feel of having this bed to herself, the first time in years she had not had Sabina pressed up against her all night. The first two nights, she had hardly slept for waking up in a panic, half-sleeping thoughts reminding her Sabina should be beside her. 

Varania couldn’t help but chuckle at her own foolishness as she snapped her fingers and the light from the candle vanished. 

 

She still managed to wake in the morning to Sabina clambering over her stomach, burying herself in the quilts and pressing her cool nose against Varania’s neck. “Mama, mama.” Sabina cooed, holding up the horse in front of Varania’s bleary eyes. The child impatiently pushed her errant curls away from her face and smiled. “Look at what I have.” 

“A horse of your own.” Varania stated. “It is a gift, from Warden Blackwall.” 

“Are there more?” Sabina asked greedily. Varania sighed, shaking her head.

“If there are, they are for the other children.” Varania half scolded, watching as Sabina made the horse gallop in the air with a sleepy, satisfied smile. Varania shifted, lifting a finger and calling a small, sputtering flame to her fingertip. It crackled and smoked, Varania drew a circle with the smoke and Sabina giggled, miming a horse jumping through a hoop.

“Again!” Sabina demanded, and Varania complied, drawing smoking rings in the air for her daughter’s amusement. It felt dangerously indulgent and  _ fabulous. _ Like a piece of chocolate she had once been given at the munera, sweet and perfect. 

“Can we go say hello to Tyrus?” Sabina asked, twisting and making the horse gallop instead up Varania’s arm.

“Only if you promise to thank Warden Blackwall for your gift.” Varania muttered, brushing the last cobwebs of the fade from her eyes as she sat. Sabina smiled, perfectly as a little doll and Sabina felt her heart constrict with a too familiar fear, a panic that made her heart flutter uneasily but that could be greeted as if it was an old friend. 

_ Oh Nico. _ She thought to herself grimly.  _ How will I ever keep her safe? Maker watch over her.  _

Varania cheated that morning and simply pinned the worst of Sabina’s curls away from her daughter’s forehead, draping both of them in long cloaks before slipping into the mist that shrouded Skyhold early each morning. In spite of spring quickly slipping into summer, Varania could still spot clumps of snow in the corners of the garden. She had never even seen snow so close before, and she was not entirely certain she didn’t like it better when it clung to distant mountaintops instead. 

“Hello Bean.” Varric called as Sabina burst through the door into the great hall. 

“Hello Varric!” Sabina called out, slipping past. Varric chuckled, looking up from his parchment just long enough to catch sight of Sabina making a beeline for the great doors. 

“Bina!” Varania called, and Sabina slowed just enough to be somewhat obedient, looking over her shoulder with an expression of pure martyrdom. 

“Those muffins are yours, Spitfire.” Varric indicated a napkin tied up in a small package next to a steaming hot mug of cider. “Kitchen staff feel bad about you trying to get that hellion of yours to slow down long enough to grab something each morning.” 

Varania was uncertain if it was the kitchen staff or the dwarf who felt bad about this morning ritual, but she was too harried to argue and the pastries smelled so good her stomach rumbled. She took the mug and the muffins with only a muttered thanks, leaving the chuckling dwarf to race after Sabina and just catch her by the back of her cloak to stop her from racing down the steps. 

“You’ll break your neck.” Varania scolded, tucking Sabina’s hand in hers. “And then what will I do?” 

“Fix it.” Sabina said unrepentantly as she trudged beside Varania. “Can I go when we get to the stables?” 

“Yes, dulce meum.” Varania explained patiently. “After you thank the Warden for your toy.” 

Sabina sighed so heavily Varania almost expected to look down and see a fourteen year old young woman holding her hand. 

The Warden was not alone. He was chopping wood while the Inquisitor perched precariously on the edge of a boarded up well, a steaming cup of something bitter smelling on her knee as they chatted. 

“I won’t pretend I’m not a bit disappointed you don’t want to go.” The Inquisitor said amiably, rolling her elegant shoulders. “I wouldn’t mind having you at my back.” 

“You’ll have Bull. I’m not the type that does well with crowds of self-serving, sniveling nobles. I can help Cassandra keep order here, she’ll need the help.” The Warden said, picking up another log. “Inquisitor, the only way you’ll get me to Halamshiral is a direct order.”    
“That almost sounds like a challenge.” The Inquisitor sniffed, taking a sip of her steaming beverage. Sabina finally wrenched herself free and ran to the Warden’s side, tugging on his jacket. 

“Thank you.” She said pertly, then turned to Varania. “Can I play now?” 

The Inquisitor nearly choked on whatever she was drinking as she laughed, sputtering and coughing. The Warden smiled down at Sabina’s curly head, mirth not entirely contained by his beard as Varania sighed in defeat. 

“Yes, Bina. Away from the stairs.” Varania instructed as Sabina tore into the stables and immediately began harassing a young stablehand. “Do not antagonize the horses!” Varania called.

“I hope you didn’t drag her the whole way down here to thank me.” Blackwall’s voice was gruff, but the mirth was still dancing in those dark eyes. “It was entirely unnecessary, my lady.” 

An expression of delight crossed the Inquisitor’s face, quickly hidden by another sip from the mug and a casual drawl. “Blackwall, does it look like the poor woman drags that child anywhere? From what I’ve seen, Sabina does the dragging.” 

“She’s got spirit, I’ll give her that.” Blackwall chuckled, rearing back and splitting the log cleanly in two. “If she liked it, I’ll see about carving her another one.” 

“She is already well on her way to being spoiled.” Varania began quickly. “You do not have to…” 

“It’ll give him something to do when I drag him out to Maker knows where.” The Inquisitor broke in quickly, slipping from the well. “Are those blueberry muffins? Varric nicked some from the kitchens this morning for me. You’d love them, Blackwall.” 

“Would you like one?” Varania offered as Blackwall immediately began to protest. The Inquisitor broke into a grin as satisfied as a cat who had gotten into the cream. 

“Right. Well, Varania, you were on my list of people to see anyway. If you can wrangle your child into the mage tower today, Fiona wanted me to convince you to meet with her and give lessons to some of the mages, healing in particular. Hawke’s already agreed, I suppose, but she’s already helping us with some research on red lyrium.” The Inquisitor said, stretching. 

“I cannot...I am not trained.” Varania stumbled through the words, feeling a heat hidden by her cold cheeks. “There must be someone more suitable.” 

“Oh, go on.” The Inquisitor winked, brushing past. “I’ll owe you a favor if you at least go and meet with Fiona. If you think it’s ridiculous, tell her so and we won’t bother you again.” The Inquisitor took several steps, then turned around with a perfect affection of innocence, continuing to stride backwards as she talked. “Blackwall, you win. Stay here and help Cassandra, but I have to  _ insist _ you try one of those blueberry muffins.” 

Blackwall paused, gazing suspiciously after Maria as she turned and wandered through the crowd, knots of people scattering from her road and a chorus of greetings following her. “You’ll be staying at Skyhold when the Inquisitor ventures into Orlais?” Varania asked. 

“So it appears.” Blackwall grumbled, slamming the axe down. “Although somehow I feel as if I’ve been tricked. She always does manage to get the last word, our Inquisitor.” 

Varania was unsure of what to say, so instead she pulled the knot on the napkin, revealing two muffins nearly as wide as the palm of a man’s hand. Light and buttery and perfect, smelling sweet with a light dusting of sparkling sugar. She offered one to Blackwall. “I cannot, you only have two. Sabina will be hungry.” The man said gently. 

“She and I can share. They are large, and I am used to having much less.” Varania held the muffin out insistently, then tutted in impatience as Blackwall continued to stare at it. “I’ll drop it.” She threatened. 

Blackwall barked out a laugh, finally taking the warm pastry. “Thank you, milady.” He said with a small flourish of a bow. 

 

Before lunch, she made her way to the mage’s tower with Sabina trailing after her. She was not surprised to see Reyna leaning against the ballasts, her long dark hair floating in the breeze. She waved as Sabina launched into a run, jumping into Hawke’s arms. “Look, pup.” Reyna instructed, leaning against the stone. “See patruus down there?” 

Sabina craned her head and Varania peered over as well. She was able to identify Fenris immediately, bringing a wooden greatsword down across a soldier’s back with elegant grace. Hawke beamed with pride. “He’s won every match.” 

“Of course he has.” Varania quipped. “He never liked to lose.” 

She left Hawke holding her daughter and slipped into the musty tower, filled with the sharp scent of lyrium, old books, and the tang of dried herbs. One of the enchanters from the College of Magi was explaining something about brewing potions to a gaggle of teenagers and none of them looked from their task when she entered. From above her, she head her name. “Ser Varania!” An elven woman called, brushing her hands over her robes as she hurried down the steps. “It is a pleasure to see you. Thank you for coming. I am Fiona, the former Grand Enchanter.” 

Varania had not realized the grand enchanter was an elf, and almost said so, before clicking her mouth shut and nodding. “The Champion has said you have great skill in healing and battle?” The woman asked. Her accent was… Orlesian, she believed. 

“I have done adequately.” Varania hedged, looking over her shoulder. “The Inquisitor asked me to speak to you, but I have no training of my own, I…”

“Which is magnificent. How determined you must have been, to teach yourself, and in such danger.” Fiona waved away any additional protests. “I have many mages who do well in battle, but we lack the healing arts. With the Champion researching the red lyrium illness, I was hoping I could ask you to teach.”

“I have a daughter, I cannot leave her unattended.” Varania said, glancing over her shoulder at the door again. 

“Ah, a mage isn’t she?” Fiona asked with a smile. “Why, she should come as well. We have lessons set up for the youngest. Surely, it will be nice to share the burden of her education.” Varania hesitated still and Fiona nodded once, a quick decisive motion before heading back up the steps. “Come, see.” 

Hesitating, Varania followed Fiona up one set of stairs, then another. At the top of the second flight, she had entered a plain room where a half dozen children sat around an older woman, all their fingertips glowing with various brightnesses, green with energy. The enchanter reached for a potted plant and caressed a withered stem until it straightened and grew green, leaves unfurling. One of the children shrieked in joy, the rest clapped in delight. Varania allowed herself to look at the children, all younger than ten, elves and humans mixed together. “I had a son and I gave him away. Mages were not allowed to raise children in the circle, you see. All of these children were given to the circle or taken, I know not how to find their parents. I would...delight in knowing I was teaching one child who could return to her mother each day. If you teach, you will be right here in the tower with her, the whole time.” 

Varania felt her throat tighten as the Enchanter stood, gathering the children to her side as they walked to planters set on the outside edge of the room, their mana singing through their fingers. She swallowed twice before she could speak, looking into the older woman’s face. “Perhaps we can try.” She said nervously. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Pulchra: Beautiful  
> *Bonum est tibi? Sabina te desideravi: Have you been good? Sabina missed you.   
> *Te amo: I love you


	64. Halamshiral

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maria and Varric take Halamshiral. I apologize for the agonizing sweetness.

 

They weren’t able to catch Solas alone until the day before they were scheduled to leave for Halamshiral. In fact, the timing had been less than ideal. Maria had seized the opportunity for Varric to pull the elf into Josephine’s office while Josephine herself was absent and had needed to scatter the six tailors inside that had been working on their attire. Maria swept a skeptical glance at the mannequins wearing four different dresses, each of which would be coming with them. Just so that the Inquisitor had a selection the night of the ball. 

“We have questions, Chuckles.” Varric said, shutting the door and bolting it behind him. 

“Hardly ominous.” Solas muttered, eyes flicking from Maria and back to Varric. “To what do I owe this pleasure?” 

 

_ When they were finally alone, away from Hawke, Fenris, the mages, and the soldiers and tucked into the tent Iron Bull had pitched for them, Maria’s hand went right to where the blade had slipped between Varric’s ribs. One gloved hand pulled up his tunic while she ripped the glove off her marked hand, allowing the eerie glow to light the space. She paused, looking at the ragged scar, her breath caught in her throat before her eyes flashed back up to his, the green glow burning within them. “I felt it Varric. I swear on Andraste’s ashes, I felt it go in. I didn’t realize, at first, but Cole was talking and I looked up. I looked up and I saw you fall in the fog. I felt like someone had walked over my grave, but Bull told me I’d just fallen asleep for a second.”  _

_ And he may not have believed it, except she had gone straight for the wound without a thought. She knew where it was, her hand had covered it through his shirt. Instead of answering right away, he gripped her marked hand and suffocated the light with his palm, twining their fingers together and putting his forehead next to hers. “I saw you.” Varric whispered into her hair. “I thought I was imagining it, but I’m sure now. I saw you on the coast, I saw a bruise on your chin…”  _

_ “Damn Venatori bastard got a glancing blow in with his staff.” She joked feebly.  _

_ “It was you. I know it was.” Varric finished, wrapping his other arm around her waist. “I’m sorry, Princess. I didn’t mean to scare you.”  _

_ “You ass.” She whispered, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing her face against his shoulder. He couldn’t ignore the tears choking her voice, the heated dampness in his coat. “You great ass. Don’t ever, ever do it again.”  _

_ “How?” Varric asked, pulling her tighter to his chest, stroking her smooth back. “I couldn't even write this shit, Maria. Nobody would believe it.”  _

_ “Solas will know.” She said fervently. “Now that I can prove I’m not insane, I’ll tell him. He’ll figure it out.”  _

 

Solas listened to Maria explain, Varric interjecting to explain his version of events as the elf sunk into one of Josephine’s chairs. Solas steepled his fingers and rested them against his chin thoughtfully as they finished. “Well, it is obviously magic.” Solas said slowly, regarding them both. “May I be permitted to ask some… personal questions?” 

“Of course, I love to talk about myself Chuckles. Go right ahead.” Varric offered, gesturing broadly to the closed room. 

“Quickly, Solas. Josie is on the warpath and I’m not going to get a chance to corner you again.” Maria said, eyes flicking to the door.

“I… assume you have been intimate? That is the reason for the tea and the intriguing gossip among the servants?” Solas asked, very deliberately not making eye contact. 

“Intimate?” Maria scoffed.

“It is a sensitive topic.” The elf said stiffly. “I do not wish to pry into your personal life, Inquisitor. However, it is an important question.” 

“If you’re asking if we’ve pampered the paragon there, Chuckles, the answer is yes. We can draw you a sketch if you’re interested.” Varric shrugged at Maria’s wicked grin and Solas’s pointed glare.

“Pampered the paragon?” Maria asked with a wiggle of her eyebrows. 

“Explored the deep roads. Dampened the divine. Isabela taught me a slew of these.” Varric explained. “We can put them into practice later.” 

“Lovely. And when you are  _ together _ , I assume you do not wear your gloves.” Solas cut in, glaring at both of them now.

“Not typically. I mean, once or twice, but I prefer to actually feel the chest hair, Solas. That’s the whole point.” Maria teased, watching the elf’s ears go pink. Solas coughed, lowering his head and massaging his temples. 

“Yes, so Master Tethras has been exposed more consistently than anyone else here to the mark you bear?” Solas confirmed. At this, Maria’s smile vanished. Varric felt his sliding away as well. 

“Yes.” She answered slowly. “Is that a problem? The only person that seems jumpy around my hand is Fenris, and I figured lyrium, blood magic scars, and my uncontrolled glowing hand just didn’t play well together for several reasons.” 

“Broody may just hate it, Princess. He used to treat Anders the same way he treats your hand.” Varric remarked conversationally, edging closer to Maria. 

“The mark  _ is _ magic, Inquisitor. We know it is tied to your emotions and physical state in ways we cannot comprehend. It would be remiss to believe that it does not react to pleasure in some way. My guess would be that during your intimate moments, the mark has created a bond that spans physical distance much the same way the fade does and that it was activated by the emotions and pain Varric felt when he nearly fell.” Solas stroked his chin thoughtfully, then continued. “I imagine it would work both ways.”

“So if I nearly die, Varric’s going to feel it?” Maria asked, a small frown twisting the corners of her mouth down. 

“I believe that is correct.” Solas stated. “We could test it, but I would not encourage doing so.” 

“So we just don’t get into any additional life threatening situations and it won’t repeat. Because that doesn’t seem impossible at all.” Varric shrugged and sighed, but Maria was biting her lip thoughtfully. She let it pop free and drew in a deep breath.

“Solas, what happens if one of us does die while this bond exists?” She asked, reclining too casually against Josephine’s desk. “For academic purposes.” 

“If you were to die, the mark would die with you. I imagine any remaining magic would simply be echoes, they would linger, but then fade into oblivion. If Master Tethras were to die, I imagine you would feel the effects longer, since the magic originated with you, but they too would fade with time and separation.” Solas said slowly, eyes flicking to Varric, then steadying on Maria. 

“Purely academic, since no one is going to die.” Varric repeated. 

“Are there any other unforeseen side effects to the anchor? Particularly to the people around me, Solas? I’m not going to start, I don’t know, causing kids to start sprouting extra eyes.” Maria asked, waving her hand in exasperation.

Solas smiled, a brief twitch of his lips that seemed heavy with sadness. “The mages that travel with you have discussed we feel a bit more...power in your presence then we do at other times. We have tried to determine if this is a psychological effect of your leadership or if it is the anchor. I believe we have all come to the conclusion that the fade bleeds through your anchor slowly, and thus gives us a bit more pep if you’d like. Beyond that, no one has reported any effects. I would be interested in seeing if you are correct that Ser Fenris also feels…” 

“Unnecessary.” Marian declared.

“I’d recommend against interrogating Fenris for magical research if you value your limbs in their current placements.” Varric advised concurrently. 

They were all startled by a thud against the door, then a blustering storm of Antivan curses that had all of them sharing an amused glance. “Sera!” Josephine screeched, dropping what sounded like an armload of documents. “How dare that...that…  _ heathen _ lock me out of my own office!” 

“Josie!” Maria called, rushing toward the door. “Stop cursing like a sailor, I just borrowed your office for a moment. Let me…” Maria was unlatching the door, then bending to retrieve the scattered documents as Josephine muttered sincere apologies about jumping to conclusions. Maria was laughing, apologizing in return, and Varric couldn’t help but smile after her. 

“Perhaps the situation would be fixed most completely by you staying in Skyhold?” Solas asked softly, standing. The look thrown in Varric’s direction was certainly accusatory enough. “I would not wish to see her so distraught a second time. It is not good for her.” 

Varric felt the guilt squeeze his heart like Broody’s fist and swallowed, hard. “Lesson learned, Chuckles. Lesson learned.” 

 

Days later, Varric lounged in the entrance hall of an ostentatious mansion. It was unsurprising that the only people ready when the Duke’s carriage arrived to pick them up were Varric, Curly, Sera, and Bull. The rest of the women, and Dorian, had dived into the rooms assigned to the Inquisitor and the only sign of any of them had been a parade of increasingly harassed looking servants. 

“Better watch it, that one has an expression that says someone is going to be eating something nasty in their soup.” Sera observed as red faced serving woman flounced down the steps and slammed a door behind her. Varric sighed. 

“Maybe you three should take the first carriage. The Inquisitor will be fashionably late.” Varric shrugged. 

“She’s done, actually.” Dorian called over the edge of the railing, a glass of wine in his hand. “But now, alas, she’s refusing to come out. It seems our Inquisitor has been frightened into submission by the fear of appearing in public in a dress.” 

Varric waited for Dorian to laugh or give away the joke, but the man, while amused, certainly did not appear to be joking. “With  _ her _ tits?” Sera asked, bewildered. 

“And they are even more magnificent in the dress, I assure you.” Dorian grinned, wiggling his eyebrows. “I was momentarily jealous of our fine dwarven friend here.”

Iron Bull had started to laugh, stroking his scruffy chin. “Y’know, I’m not shocked, but I thought she was going to face it down if she let it go this far.” 

“Well, someone better make sure Corphy-tits never finds out that Quizzie’s scared of dresses.” Sera remarked with a wicked grin in Varric’s direction. “You gotta get her down here.” 

“In the clothes Leliana, Vivienne, and Josephine have chosen or risk extreme displeasure from all quarters, my friend.” Dorian smirked salaciously. “I believe the rest of us will meet you at the palace.” 

Varric ignored their titters, shaking his head in genuine amusement as he climbed the steps. Outside the Inquisitor’s room, Leliana, Vivienne, and Josephine all stood with their arms crossed glaring at one another. Josephine noticed him first and stood up straighter, her words immediately swelling and spilling over like an overfull mug of ale. 

“Varric! She will not see reason! She must stand out, and she is insisting on wearing the same uniform as everyone else. The  _ scandal _ if the Inquisitor doesn’t live up to the fashions…” 

“The nobility will already be hard pressed to accept a dwarf as the Herald of Andraste, darling. She must defy their expectations.” Vivienne chimed in with a great wave of her hands. 

“She is being stubborn.” Leliana said bluntly. “And she looks gorgeous, there is no reason…” 

Varric put his hands up, silencing all of them and then shot a pointed glance at the door. “I’ll talk to her. You go ahead and get everything else ready.” 

“Varric she cannot wear the same uniform!” Josephine squawked. “We do not  _ even have _ a spare! Oh, Andraste, spare us…”

“No need for prayers to Andraste yet, Ruffles. Give me a minute.” Varric pleaded, ushering the three women away from the door. When the finally vanished down the stairs, he knocked on the door. He didn’t wait for an answer before walking in. 

The window was wide open, and at first he thought she’d fled into the countryside instead of consenting to being paraded around Halamshiral. Then he caught sight of movement in the corner of his eye as Maria sat a bottle of wine down on a glass table. The woman he had never seen speechless before, even when facing a dragon or falling into the fade, eyed him cautiously, skittishly. 

The soothing words he meant to say where lost in an instant fog as she stepped forward. They’d picked the white gown and the silk rippled like moonlight on a lake when she moved. Her red hair draped artfully in curls over one shoulder like a spill of blood, and someone had managed to dab rouge onto her mouth to turn it just a shade darker than her hair. The dress itself was sleeveless, revealing her pale and freckled arms, with a neckline that was honestly a bit more modest than he expected, only hinting at the curves of her chest rather than displaying them. She wore high gloves, white as well, that covered her arms up to her elbows. Around her waist and wrists, dainty silver chains sparkled. Varric coughed to clear his suddenly very dry throat and Maria’s lips twitched. 

“The front isn’t even the best part.” She said wryly, turning to the side. Varric’s heart almost stopped. 

The dress was modest in the front, but the cloth that had risen over her shoulders only hugged her neck, leaving her back in a glorious bare expanse. He was intimately familiar with the sight of her scantily clad, but this was better somehow, the soft bumps of her spine framed by the white silk. 

“You’re right.” He finally said, taking a step forward. “You shouldn’t wear that. I vote we take it off, right now, and do something entirely more fun than attend this...whatever it is.” 

“Stop an assassination.” Maria chided as Varric reached out, letting his fingers skim the edge of the silk where it met the bare skin of her back. 

“Assassinate who?” Varric asked. “I can’t remember. Andraste’s ass, Maria, you look amazing. What in the void is the problem?” 

She pulled away, sighing in frustration and crossing her arms under her chest, hugging herself tightly. “This is  _ not _ who I am.” She muttered, throwing a glare that could kill over her shoulder and into the full length mirror. “This...this is…” She swept her arm across her body, indicating the dress.

“This is what some lofty, entitled deshyr’s daughter wears while simpering at jokes that aren’t funny and letting her father whore her out to the highest bidder. I don’t feel like  _ me _ in this, I don’t look at that mirror right now and see a woman who survived an avalanche or shot a demon in the face or closed the damned breach. That woman cannot stop an assassination, Varric.” She gestured uselessly to the mirror. Her anger flushed her cheeks, bringing a determined shine to her eyes, and Varric could have laughed.

“Yes, she did, and she will. I was there, Princess. Saw the whole thing, writing it down in fact.” He promised.

“This is not a joke, Varric.” She seethed. 

“I know.” He said, smiling softly. “Maria, it’s just a dress. When you’re naked, you’re still the woman who did all those things.” 

“You know what they’re going to say about me, Varric.” Maria sighed, dropping into one of the decadent plush chairs littering the space. “They’re going to say there’s that Carta criminal, low-class trash, no better than a noble hunter. I could face it if I was wearing damn pants, not dressed up like a virgin sacrifice.” 

“They’re humans, Princess. They’re not going to call you a noble hunter, they don’t know what it means.” Varric soothed, perching on the arm of the chair as Maria reached out for the bottle of wine again and took a quick gulp. He gently pried the bottle out of her hand and sat it back on the table. “And if there is a dwarf there who dares to say a damn word, I’ll challenge them to a duel for your honor. It will liven up the whole affair, I’m sure.” 

“Which will definitely give credence to the ‘noble hunter’ slur.” Maria muttered darkly. Varric frowned at the top of her head, then reached out his hand to tip her chin up to meet his eyes. Her gray, stormy depths roiled with conflicting emotions. “You know the guild already says I’m your mistress, don’t they?” She asked. “Now I’m all dressed up like one.” 

“Is  _ that _ what this is about?” Varric asked, exasperated. “If anyone is the mistress, I can almost guarantee I fit the definition better than you do. I live, rent free, in your castle. Your armies accompany us wherever we go. I’ve somehow managed to insinuate my friends into your ranks. You did a better job handling my affairs while I was gone than I ever have. It’s a classic scheming mistress story.” 

That made her smile, a slow and tentative thing. “I really should start charging you rent, honestly.” 

“And despite the white dress, nobody is going to mistake you for a virgin.” He teased. The Inquisitor laughed, a sultry perfect thing that, yes, definitely didn’t belong to a virgin. 

“We can play the game by their rules, Princess. But they don’t own me or you. Trust me.” He said, bending down to press his lips against hers. 

The relief in the entrance hall when Varric descended with the Inquisitor was palpable. In truth, it had taken only a few minor adjustments to get Maria out the door. Despite the fact that Dorian had insisted the gold Cadash crest on her necklace clashed with her silver accoutrements, Maria replaced it around her neck. And Varric slipped the dagger her first love had made her onto a silver belt and wrapped it loosely around her waist so it rested just at her hip. None of these changes merited the notice of the ladies until Maria stepped into the carriage and revealed that she had completely shucked the dainty silver sandals for her soft doeskin boots. Vivienne’s mouth opened to complain, but Maria silenced her with one arched eyebrow. 

“Madame Vivienne, I am here to chase down a Venatori assassin, am I not?” She asked. 

“Practical.” Josephine interrupted, shooting a glare at Vivienne that said the time to concede the battle was now. “Quite practical, Inquisitor. Now we must be going.” 

 

When they arrived at the Winter Palace, Varric knew it was going to go south as soon as he was mobbed by fans and figured out his publisher had been cheating him. Maria hadn’t been sympathetic. “I’d have been cheating you too. You should pay better attention to your fan letters, you’ve got stacks from Orlais.” 

Varric, who had never once looked at the postage on his fan letters but instead had scoured them to find the most absurd praise to read to Isabela, couldn’t help the grin spreading over his face as he swept the Inquisitor out of the smoking room. “When did you figure out my publisher was cheating me?” 

“While you were on the way to Tevinter.” She answered serenely, nodding her head to a bowing noble. Despite the unorthodox (heretical, perhaps?) thought of having a dwarf as Andraste’s herald, slowly the nobles were coming around. “I already sent a strongly worded note to her. Now, stand here. You’re a distraction.” Maria ordered, slipping from his arm. 

“So kind of you!” A woman fawned, bowing to him and crowding into the spot Maria had vacated. “I cannot believe you have consented to share some of your newest work with us. It is a most unexpected treat!”

“Yes.” Varric said immediately, eyes flashing to where Maria had vanished. “Completely unexpected for all involved.” 

“The Inquisitor said you would do a public excerpt?” A man with a golden mask asked. Varric bit back his sigh, barely, fishing for his journal in his pocket. 

“As the Inquisitor commands, I suppose.” He chuckled. “Now, with the inside look I’ve had at the Inquisition, I’ve been inspired to…” 

As he was so apt to do, his mouth continued moving, words spinning like silk. His eyes, however, had focused on a narrow gap behind the crowd where he could see Bull assisting Maria with getting a firm foothold on a trailing lattice leading up to some balconies. He nearly snorted with laughter. Distraction, indeed. 

And, perhaps, the most surprising thing at the end of the evening wasn’t that Maria stood victorious beside the Empress. He was quickly beginning to believe that Maria simply couldn’t fail when she put her mind to things. He wasn’t shocked that she’d somehow amassed enough evidence in her explorations of the castle in incriminate the Duke, the Empress, and the Ambassador, then used it expertly to forge them into an alliance like they were naughty children. He wasn’t even stunned that she’d managed to do it all without a single bloodstain on the white, silky gown. 

What did floor him was that she ended the night in his arms. The Empress’s apostate slipped off the balcony and Varric approached, Maria bent over the railing and staring into the garden with a brooding expression that could only be described as belonging more at home on Fenris’s features. 

“Copper for your thoughts?” He asked, bending down beside her. 

“I’m sure there are people in there that’d offer me double that.” She teased lightly, continuing to stare into the darkness. He waited until she sagged down, looking at him. 

“They’ll stab me in the back at the first opportunity, you know.” She said quietly. “When they don’t need me anymore.” 

“I know, Princess.” He sighed. “I’ve been down this road before.” Hawke, at the Champion’s ball, surrounded by sharks in the water.

They were silent together, plagued by thoughts of the future. He reached out, covering her fingers with his. “I’m with you, Maria. No matter what. I love you.” 

“I love you too.” She whispered, then smiled slyly. “You promised me a dance, you know.” 

He’d almost forgotten. Let the darkness hold their future, tonight...tonight she was flushed with victory, invincible against the darkness, glowing in the moonlight like a lit taper. He grinned, stepping back from the rail and holding out his hand. 

She laughed, taking it. “I’ve never danced before Josephine’s damn lessons. Not like this.” She admitted as he pulled her close, tucking her against him. 

“My mother made me take lessons. The dancing master had a moustache to rival Dorian’s.” Varric confided. Maria laughed. 

“Don’t tell him that.” She scolded, sinking into his embrace and resting her head on his shoulder. He spun her in a slow circle, letting his fingers trail down her bare skin, tracing her spine so she shivered against him in delight. For once, Varric’s mind was quiet. There were no other words to say, not then. Nor later, when they returned to the mansion the Inquisition had taken up residence in shortly before the sky pinked with dawn and he slipped the silk from her shoulders and bared her to him completely. And there was nothing left to say later when they lay curled together in the opulent, over large bed, clutching onto each other like vines. 

“You could come to Kirkwall. When this is over.” He offered, making his voice as tantalizing as possible as he traced a line up her arm. Dawn was seeping in through the open window. 

“Would Kirkwall have me?” She asked sleepily. “The heretical slatern formerly known as the Inquisitor?”

“Well, they did make Hawke Champion.” He teased. 

“What if it is never over?” Maria asked, eyes opening and fixing on him. “What if I’m never allowed to be Maria Cadash again? What if you look at me some day and can’t even see the woman who stumbled out of the temple of Sacred Ashes?” 

Varric truly had no good answer. He tightened his embrace, kissing her forehead. “We’ll run away.” He decided. 

“Alright then.” She sighed, melting into him. “I could live with that.” 


	65. A Better Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris and the Inquisitor finally talk.

Skyhold was growing on Fenris. His first impression of the fortress, arriving there to have just missed Hawke and still recovering from his near fatal injury, had been one of immense frustration with each damned brick and stone. Now, regrettably, he could see he had been unkind to both Inquisition and the home it had found. 

Parts of the fortress were in as much disrepair as his mansion in Hightown had been. Frequently, he stumbled upon crews still repairing crumbling walls and cracked foundations. Once while waiting for Hawke on the battlements he had overheard an ongoing disagreement between the Inquisitor and Cullen over an unpatched hole in Cullen's roof. This had made him smile slightly as he walked with Sabina across the stone battlements, watching her point and prattle at the distant mountains and catching her elbow when she tried to lean precariously far. It reminded him of his early days with Reyna and her constant griping over the sorry state of his stolen home. The Inquisitor had stormed behind him in a temper, streaking down the steps and shaking her head as Cullen emerged, looking just as irritated. 

“Maker save us from stubborn women.” He muttered, glaring after the Inquisitor. 

Fenris could have said amen, and was almost sorely tempted to. Instead, he only nodded. 

He most often found himself idle, but even the idleness was pleasant. When Hawke was occupied, he worked with Varania to teach her to ride and they spoke, mostly of trivial memories, both still too skittish to ask of anything deeper. Sometimes he took Sabina on his own and they explored every crevice of the fortress for her amusement and his curiosity. When both Varania and Sabina were occupied with the mages, he took to sparring. At first, with whoever was foolish enough to challenge him. Fortunately, the Iron Bull had leaped at the challenge and always proved ready. Fenris still won most often.

Perhaps his favorite part of Skyhold was the cozy room he shared with Hawke, only steps down the hall from where Varania slept with Sabina. It reminded him achingly of Hawke's bedroom in Kirkwall, draped in crimson and gold. It was even starting to smell the same, a delightful mix of Hawke's own sweet scent, parchment, and bitter alchemical components stoppered in neat little bottles on the desk. It lacked a proper fireplace and Hawke had donated the small stove that had been there to Varania instead, reasoning that at least Fenris and Hawke were used to the weather in southern Thedas. Fenris had bit his tongue when the urge to point out no one could become used to the atrocious cold had risen. 

Their room afforded them precious privacy, and the cold didn’t particularly matter when they were like this. It was early yet, dawn only just streaking through the windows, and Hawke was luxuriously naked on top of the sheets. Her body was stretched like an offering, nipples hard as she clutched the pillow under her neck with a gasp of bright pleasure. “Yes…” She hissed, closing her eyes. “Right there. Again. Please.” 

He chuckled darkly as he pressed slowly back inside her again, feeling her stretch and clench around his hard length. She was all warm, slick, soft heat. He angled her hips to push right into the spot that made her keen and whimper with desire again. He was not disappointed by her reaction. She moaned,  head falling back and her spine arching toward him. Her hair fell across the clean white sheets like an ink spill. She was flushed pink with desire, her arms slipping around his neck to pull him to her lips. She pressed against him, humming her pleasure into the kiss. He slipped his hips back, then drove forward again, catching her moan in his mouth. He allowed his hands to linger over her skin, tracing over old scars, then over the rounded curve of her stomach. Still hidden by the loose blouses she favored, but very noticeable now when she was naked. His child, growing within her.

Maker, that shouldn't have made him even harder, but it did. He bit her lower lip gently and growled as he pressed forward.

The knock at the door startled them both. Hawke swore, pulling away from his lips and looking at the locked door. The wall flickered blue with light from the lyrium running over his skin. They were silent and still, waiting. The knock came again and Hawke, improbably, giggled. 

“Hush.” He ordered, still hard and wanting inside her. “Let them leave.”

Hawke grinned wickedly, bringing her lips back to his.

The damned fool at the door knocked again. This time, a young man called out. “Champion? Ser Hawke? Message for you.” 

Fenris growled low in his throat. “Go away!” Hawke called cheerfully, rocking her hips forward in a smooth rolling motion that nearly caused him to continue regardless of the fool at the door overhearing. As it was, he couldn’t hold back the groan from rising in his throat. 

“A message from the Inquisitor for Ser Hawke, Champion. It's important.” The lad continued obliviously. “I'm to deliver it straightaway.” 

Hawke laughed again, letting go of him and flopping back onto the sheets. “He's not going to go away.” She predicted. 

“Then let him hear.” Fenris snarled, leaning over her and withdrawing his hips only to sink back into her burning heat. She barely bit back a moan. 

“Fenris!” Hawke adopted a mock scandalized tone. “Is that the behavior or a knight?” She teased, eyes sparkling with desire and mischief. 

“Futuo.” Fenris swore. “I am no…” 

“Ser?” The boy asked. With a flurry of curses and a storm of rage, Fenris was off Hawke before she could even begin laughing again. Her soft giggles were the chorus to his pounding heartbeat as he pulled his trousers on in record time, tied loosely and only barely hiding his straining erection. Hawke pulled the sheet over her, but it was unnecessary. Fenris opened the door wide enough only to grab the message from the young man's hand and throw it behind him onto the floor. Then he thrust his arm through the crack and gripped the man's breastplate and held him still, watching the boy's eyes widen. 

“Tell the Inquisitor I will read her message when I am no longer busy.” Fenris snapped, then shoved the man backwards away from their door roughly. “And when we say go away, we mean it.” 

The boy was pale and swallowed hard, but Fenris did not care. He slammed the door shut behind him and bolted it, returning to Hawke.

“Maker, I hope that wasn't an important message asking if she should turn us over to any of the people we've pissed off lately.” Hawke teased. “After that display, she just may.” 

“Should I stop and read it now?” He asked, trailing kisses up her swan like neck, then nipping lightly at the soft skin, making her whimper in delight.  

“Don't you dare.” Hawke huffed.

 

Two hours later, he finally remembered the discarded message. He had thought for certain the messenger was mistaken and he would pick it up to find it addressed to Hawke. He was frankly confused and apprehensive to find it was, indeed, addressed to him. He tore it open and let his eyes scan the words. The Inquisitor’s handwriting, certainly. He still had the note from Tevinter if he wanted to check, but it was so distinctive he felt no need.  

“The Inquisitor asked if I could meet her an hour ago at the armory. Do you believe she is still there?” Fenris asked Hawke as she ran a comb through her dark hair. Hawke simply snorted. 

“No. The woman is impossible to pin down. You'll be chasing her all over Skyhold now, amatus. What does she need?” Hawke placed the comb on the vanity, peering over her shoulder. 

“She does not say.” Fenris muttered, examining the sheet of paper, turning it over to ensure there was nothing more written on the back. 

“I hope it wasn't urgent.” Hawke drawled with a smirk. “And that she doesn't mind you frightening her messenger half to death so you can shank your Jory.” 

“I did not recall hearing you complain at the time.” He growled, slipping his tunic on and beginning to fasten it. “I will find her and apologize.”

“I never look a gift elf in the mouth.” Hawke teased. She was about to say something else but something passed over her face instead and her hand flew to her abdomen. 

“Reyna?” Fenris asked, crossing the room and leaning over her. “What is it?” 

“I… Maker, Fenris. I can feel the baby. I can feel it moving. Like I swallowed an insect.” She laughed reaching out and taking his hand, eyes misting over. “Our little fledgling.” 

He wasn't aware that he dropped to his knees until he was resting his pointed ear against her bare abdomen, one hand resting beside his face on her soft, smooth skin. “I cannot feel it.” He couldn't keep the disappointment from his voice or face. Hawke gently ran her fingers through his hair. 

“You will.” Hawke promised, her nails scratching soothingly against his scalp. “Talk to her, maybe she’ll move more. I think she likes your voice.” 

“He.” Fenris corrected. “And I think you like to hear me talk, not our child.”

“Guilty.” Hawke admitted shamelessly. Fenris smirked, pressing his lips against the rounded curve of her stomach. 

Fenris whispered in Tevene across Hawke's skin, letting the words drape around her. “Et occurit parvulus nescit. Paratissimi sumus occurrere.”  

Hawke sighed in pleasure. “And what was that? Sabina isn't here to translate.”

“I cannot wait to meet you, little one.” He said, looking up and letting his eyes catch Hawke's. He could have let himself drown in the tenderness there. The love. Too good, like gold. “We are eager to see you.” 

Hawke's smile was like the sun, so brilliant it was almost blinding. The same smile he slowly, so slowly he hardly realized until he was too far gone, fell in love with. He hoped their child shared that open, joyous smile. “Such a sap, Fenris. Wait until Merrill hears you talking like this.” 

 

Finding the Inquisitor was a challenge. His first stop was the armory. Cassandra was there, critically examining blades with a furious scowl. “She was here and said she had asked you to stop in, but did not anticipate you would.” Cassandra began irritably, brushing her hair from her eyes. “We spent an hour going through these blades from Val Royeaux. Our supplier mixed shoddy ones with the better quality and we must weed them out. She was called away but I still have crates to go through. I am going to strangle the supplier myself.” 

“Is that why she requested my presence?” Fenris asked skeptically, picking up one of the blades himself and testing the balance and edge. It felt solid, he placed it where Cassandra appeared to be placing those she found no fault with. He assumed the ones that were defective were those discarded haphazardly on the ground in a fit of temper.

“I do not believe so. I would not turn down assistance if you offer it, however.” Cassandra stated warmly. Fenris picked up the next blade and immediately felt the difference between it and the first. He tossed it behind him unceremoniously with a brief nod towards Cassandra. She returned his nod appreciatively. 

Two hours after this, he ran into Cullen on the battlements. The man was upbraiding a recruit for something involving a barrel full of daggers. He was able to briefly state he had seen the Inquisitor heading to the mage tower. 

“Still haven't found her?” Hawke asked cheerfully as he entered, looking up from a table laden with bitter herbs. “She's been gone for about forty-five minutes. I tried to ask her what she wanted, but Josephine rushed in and dragged her out raving about Sera. All I got was something about the camp at the Silent Plains.” 

“Fine.” He snapped. “I will at least say hello to Varania and Sabina. It will not be a wasted trip.” 

“Also gone.” And Hawke, maddeningly, grinned at his frustration. “You know those little wooden toys Bina keeps carrying around? Turns out Warden Blackwall is a prolific whittler and Sabina is using it to her advantage. So they visit the stables around this time every day and take the poor man lunch. Makes Varania feel a bit less guilty, I guess.” 

“Then I will resume wandering this forsaken fortress.” Fenris grumbled. “If I do not find her soon, I will simply hold Varric hostage until she finds me.” 

Sera meant tavern, so that was his next stop. He didn't go up the stairs, but instead stopped with Bull who was lounging next to the lad that set his teeth on edge. Nobody had yet been able to tell him what was wrong with the lad with the broad brimmed hat they all called Cole. The best he’d gotten was a disgusted noise from Cassandra followed by a “Only the Maker knows.”

“Good afternoon.” He greeted. 

“Hey elf.” Bull greeted warmly. “I'm up for a round if you are. Think I've just about figured out how to stop you from slipping past me.” 

Unlikely, and Fenris couldn't suppress a smirk or ignore the temptation. “Perhaps later. The Inquisitor asked for me. Have you seen her?” 

“Boss? She dragged Sera out of here by her ear to go clean something up. Doubt Sera actually did it, but the show calmed Josephine down. Any idea where she went Cole? Or what she wanted with Fenris?”

“She signs all the letters that go to the families. She doesn't have to, nobody makes her, but she makes herself. She stared at the list and signed Inquisitor Cadash until late last night, until her eyes were crossed and her mind was tangled. She wasn't thinking of them, but the name she crossed off the list triumphantly and she was glad. Glad and happy and peaceful. But then she went to sleep and glad turned to guilt and she stared at the ceiling and saw all the names written there over and over and over…” The boy muttered and Fenris glared at him distrustfully. 

“Well. That's less than helpful.” Bull chimed, patting the boy's shoulder. “Nice try, Cole.” 

“There's a letter in her pocket with sharp edges. She is desperate to help but not sure how. She'd cut her heart to ribbons on the paper, but the left hand was watching.” Cole continued, looking up from under the brim of his hat. “You could help her help them. Yes, maybe. If the words don't stick in your throat like all other times you wanted to help and didn’t.” 

Needless to say, Fenris left the tavern even more irritated than he had been. This time, he made a beeline straight to the great hall and to Varric who was chatting genially away with several Inquisition soldiers while he shuffled a deck of cards. “Where is your woman?” Fenris snarled. “I have dragged myself in a circle chasing her and…”

“Easy Broody!” Varric began with a laugh. “She's a busy lady. She’s in the forge right now but you may want to…” 

Fenris did not listen to the rest of the statement. He turned on his heel and strode purposefully toward the forge, throwing the large door open and pushing into the dark, hot room. He could smell blistering iron, sulfur, and… lyrium. But the lyrium was wrong. 

The evil, nauseating flicker across the brands on his skin came next. Followed by memories of agony, writhing, the room with the stars in Danarius's mansion. The shack by the lake while Hawke cried. Torture and pain and Maker make it…

“Stop!” Someone commanded from too far away. Fenris had to make an effort to pull himself to the present. “Dagna, stop. Put it away now.” 

“Inquisitor…” A girlish voice responded. 

“Now!” 

Scuffling. Fenris looked down the steps and saw the red glow held by tongs being slowly lowered into a thick case. There were two red headed dwarves down below, both wearing masks. But the other dwarf was walking away from the red glow, stripping the mask from her face and her piercing grey eyes were fixed on his. 

“I meant it when I said you and Hawke had the run of the place, but maybe send a note before coming down here.” The Inquisitor said matter of factly. “You alright there?” 

“I am fine.” Fenris responded automatically, eyes still focused on where the red glow  The Inquisitor shook her head in disbelief. 

“You look like you're going to toss your breakfast all over my floors.” She observed. “Sit down.”

“No. Fasta vass, do not coddle me.” Fenris spat out, drawing closer to the edge of the stairs and watching as the case was locked. Two locks, one key for the dwarf below. Another which she tossed up to the Inquisitor. 

“Why are you running experiments with red lyrium? Why are you keeping pieces of it?” He demanded darkly, glaring at the small woman. She didn't flinch from his steely glare. “Do you have any idea what power your are playing with?”

“I have a very good idea,  thank you.” She interrupted with an air of finality. “Dagna, go grab something to eat.” 

“But it's  _ him _ .” The other dwarf said, all wide excited eyes and trembling anticipation. “He's like a living rune. And he's so… pretty. Nobody said he was  _ pretty _ .” 

Fenris considered either fleeing or perhaps striking one of the two women. He couldn’t decide who would be the better target, the woman looking at him like she’d found a shiny new toy or the Inquisitor who was utterly failing to keep her amusement from showing. She finally managed to school herself into a level tone. “Dagna. We have talked about how your excitement over magical misfortunes comes off as callous, right?” The Inquisitor asked. 

“Right.” The other dwarf said, shaking her head as if to clear it. “Still, I'd love to take…” 

“Maker save you if the next word out of your mouth is samples, Dagna.” The Inquisitor threatened, eyes flashing brightly. “Because I will not.” 

“Right.” Dagna stuttered nervously. “Right. Lunch!” 

After the other dwarf's exit, the Inquisitor looked back up at Fenris in that measuring, infuriatingly calm manner. 

“You did not answer my questions. Is Varric aware that you have a hidden cache of red lyrium?” Fenris asked, indicating the entire forge distastefully. 

“Yes. And I'll answer the rest if you like me too. But you look like you could use a drink and Maker knows I could.” The Inquisitor said, waving him back towards the forge door. “I keep some whiskey hidden in the war room. Unless that offends you too, in which case, I’ll drink it myself.”

 

Fenris had not been in the war room and he felt almost as if he had entered something sacrosanct. From what he heard, the room was home most often to Leliana, Josephine, the Inquisitor, and Cullen. Apparently the strange apostate from Orlais he had yet to see himself had begun to attend almost all their meetings, but beyond that no one else entered the room for any length of time. There were small, surprising reminders of their lives everywhere. A deck of cards rested on a small side table next to a bottle of whiskey and some stacked glasses, which was where the Inquisitor made a beeline to. Tucked underneath the cards was a blue flower, half wilted. On a sofa in the corner, there was a half finished box of chocolates and mounds of letters. An open book balanced precariously on the edge of the table with a pressed flower he believed was called Andraste's Grace laying in the spine like a bookmark. A few chess pieces were lined up orderly on the edge of the table.

“Sorry about the mess.” The Inquisitor said, sitting a glass of the whiskey in front of him on the maps spread over the table. There were intriguing little markers all over the maps, some pinning notes to the surface. She had sat his glass on the Kokori wilds. “The servants hardly ever get in here and we're obviously shit at cleaning up after ourselves.” 

She had poured herself a glass and sipped it quietly while she studied the map. “I should have told you about the red lyrium. It was a mistake and it slipped my mind how dangerous it was for you. I apologize.” 

“And why is the great Inquisitor hiding red lyrium in her fortress?” Fenris asked. She sighed. 

“Corypheus has, well, had two generals. One of them, a man by the name of Samson was a templar in Kirkwall before.” The Inquisitor mused, swirling her drink.  

“We had dealings with him. He was a lyrium addict begging for coins.” Fenris stated. “He is now this Magister's general?”

“Apparently he moved on up in the world, yes. He is… well, dedicated to red lyrium. We found his hideout. He's ingesting the stuff, growing it, and wearing it. He's got a suit of armor made from the stuff that makes him nearly invincible. And if I can't figure out how to break his armor like an egg, we're going to lose people when we fight him.” She was tracing a river through Ferelden on the map. He knew that river, he had been there with Hawke during their years on the run. “As to why it's a secret. Well, I don't want some idiot thinking it's a good idea to play with it. At least Dagna is careful. Well, as careful as experimenting with unexplained natural phenomena can be. Regardless, we've only had two small explosions and none involved the red lyrium.” 

“Comforting.” Fenris remarked dryly.

The Inquisitor laughed, shaking her head. “I know, right? Andraste help us.”

Fenris took a sip of his whiskey. It was the good kind Varric had often saved for holidays and special occasions. Although those special occasions always seemed to be whatever day Hawke or Varric decided they didn't want to drink ale. “Corypheus had two generals?”

“He did. His second was in Tevinter, we thought she was searching for ancient artifacts. Apparently, she was trying to raise an archdemon.” Fenris nearly spit out his whiskey and had to quickly compose his face as the Inquisitor paused thoughtfully. “Although I suppose that the first archdemon could be considered an ancient artifact.” 

“We killed the other general?” Fenris asked, placing his glass down and letting it clink on the table.

“You did. Which is entirely one more general than the great Inquisitor has managed to kill. Cheers.” She added brightly, lifting her own glass in a salute before taking another sip, turning her back to the table and leaning against it. 

“You scared the piss out of Jim this morning, by the way.” The Inquisitor remarked slyly, grinning into her whiskey. “Poor kid. Don't do it again.” 

“He was interrupting and he didn't leave.” Fenris growled. “He was told to. Do your people have no respect for privacy?” 

“No. Do you know how often that happens to me? Andraste's flaming ass, ask Varric how many people have seen his fine dwarven posterior on display.” She suggested with a wiggle of her eyebrows. 

“I will not.” He stated firmly. “I spent the rest of the morning chasing you around Skyhold and that is punishment enough.”

“You almost caught me when I slipped back into the armory to check on Cass.” She admitted too sweetly. “Thanks for helping her, by the way.”

“You did it on purpose.” Fenris accused, narrowing his eyes. “You knew I was looking for you and led me on a chase across the fortress.” 

“Next time, don't frighten my messenger half to death.” He glared at her and she laughed, shaking her head. “I let you off easy. I used to have Cassandra circling Haven ten times a day. I let her figure out I was doing it on purpose on her own.” 

“What do you want, Cadash?” He snarled impatiently. “I have things I could be doing.” The dwarven woman sighed, pulling a letter from her pocket and handing it to him. 

“No you don’t. Iron Bull can find someone else to beat him up.” She pointed out. “Here, the slaves you rescued from the Silent Plains want to come here. The troops I have stationed in Nevarra have been watching out for them and I've offered to get them set up somewhere in the Free Marches. None of them took me up on it. They want to pledge themselves to the Inquisition and the Herald of Andraste.” Her nose wrinkled when she said her title. 

“Is that not who you are? The Herald of Andraste?” He questioned, taking the letter, scanning it. 

“So they say.” She muttered darkly, looking down into her whiskey. “I’m in no position to turn down recruits, but I think it’s entirely more plausible they’re looking for the White Wolf of Seheron than the Herald of Andraste.” 

“That is a fairy story. I bear hardly a resemblance to those tales.” Fenris claimed, almost crumbling the letter in his hand. 

“Funny, I could say the same about the Herald of Andraste and Maria Cadash.” She sighed, shaking her head. “Regardless, I’d take them. I’m more worried they’re just trying to trade one Master for another. Call me sentimental, but the thought of Cullen ordering these people around like he does the rest of the troops makes my stomach churn.” She crossed her arms under her chest, staring at him. “What should I do?”

“Why are you asking me? I am not one of your advisors.” He said quickly, pushing the paper back at her. She took it quickly, folding it back up deftly. 

“Cullen said you'd be the best to ask. I agree with him. This is the room where I get advice, so advise away.” She smirked, raising an eyebrow. “Do you want your own marker for the map? I can get you one.” 

“Let them come if that is what they wish. Allow them to join your army.” Fenris offered, edging away from the table. He knew why she wanted him. He knew why Cole had said he could help, if the words didn’t turn to dust in his mouth.  

“And who should command them? Cullen?” She asked softly. “They’re coming for you.”  

“You desire me to say I will, but I am no commander.” Fenris snarled like a cornered animal. “And I am not one to be commanded.” 

The Inquisitor was not one to be intimidated. “I’m asking to give you a job and pay you. If you don't like what we ask of you, then you quit.” She shrugged as if it were simple. 

“And toss my pregnant wife and I out of Skyhold for disobedience, Inquisitor?” He asked, deliberately emphasizing her title. He ignored the pinch of guilt as her eyes widened in shock. Then narrowed in anger. 

“No. I wouldn't do that. You know I wouldn’t do that. You're free to stay or leave whenever you like. I promised you that and I meant it. Now stop being an ass.” She blurted out. 

“Is that how you speak to all your commanders?” Fenris glared at the rising color in the woman's cheeks. He knew he was goading her. She had to see that this was not feasible, he was not Hawke. He did not inspire loyalty or make decisions. 

“When they deserve it!” She exclaimed, slamming her hand impatiently on the table. “Maker's balls! What did I do to deserve this?” 

It was a rhetorical question for the Maker and his bride, not for Fenris. Yet he answered it anyway. “You lie so well even you almost believe it. You traipse around this fortress as if that magic on your hand isn’t agony. You blackmail queens and dukes and spies and spin your web to elevate your Inquisition. You hide what you do not wish questioned. You sent the Warden’s away in anger because you failed to save Stroud. You play with living souls as if they are dolls while disavowing what they believe you are. How can I trust you? How can anyone trust you?” 

Slapping her would have been less cruel. He knew it as soon as he saw the emotions boiling over in her expressive eyes. 

“Maybe you shouldn't.” She said harshly. “Maybe nobody should. But I didn’t ask for this, you know. I was doing a job and I should have died at the Conclave. Then I should have died at Haven, but I still didn’t. I fell into the abyssal rift, and Maker, I survived. And there’s no explanation  _ except _ for the Maker and Andraste, but I’m nothing special. I don’t feel like Andraste sent me, but I know what they say. Maybe I want to believe it too.” She looked haunted, hunted. Her jaw was tense as iron, shoulders stiff. The quiet laid over the room like a shroud. 

“Don’t you wish you could be the White Wolf of Seheron? The person they think you are?” She asked quietly. 

And perhaps the Herald of Andraste was a fraud, no more than a woman playing with fire. Or perhaps she was sent by the Maker to save the world. Maybe the truth was somewhere in the middle. 

Perhaps the truth of Fenris, the truth of Leto and the White Wolf and all those things, were somewhere in the middle as well. 

“I will answer to none but you if we attempt this.” He said slowly, unable to meet her perceptive eyes. “I will want a letter in your hand stating we are promised shelter here regardless of outcome.”

“Done.” She promised easily. “Already done, actually. Josephine has instructions in case of my untimely demise, and I’ve added to it that you’re not to be turned out. I’ll make sure you have a copy.”

“I will not spend a night away from Hawke with our child on its way. Not one.” He emphasized. “You will not send me to the corners of Thedas.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” She assured him. 

“And, one last thing.” He began hesitantly.

“Dorian stays.” The Inquisitor started immediately, chin jerking up. Fenris couldn’t help the short chuckle. 

“No. He can stay, but I will not call you your worship. Nor will I instruct anyone else to.” He said seriously. 

That made her beam. “Inquisitor is fine for your men. You can even call me Cadash if you want to. Maker, hardly anyone calls me that anymore.” 

“I must talk to Hawke before I say yes.” He added. She nodded eagerly, a small smile playing around her lips. 

“I still think you are playing a fool's game. Even if you are sent by the Maker.” He qualified. “Nobody will thank you.” 

“Is this gloomy pessimism a Tevinter trait?” She tipped her head to the side, considering. “Like Fereldens being obsessed with dogs and Orlesians with their stupid masks? Maker, you sound just like Dorian.” 

He scowled and she laughed. 

 

He should have went straight to Hawke, but his feet took him instead to the garden as if he was in a dream. There were chattering chantry sisters, several children playing. Fenris found a bench in the corner and sat, staring unseeing into the garden, lost in his ruminating thoughts. He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, although he was dimly aware of the sun passing overhead. The people gave him a wide berth, all except for one. 

Her basket clattered on the stones when she dropped it. It was full of bits and pieces of cloth, but Varania had one piece of cloth in her hand which she dropped into his wordlessly. The cloth was soft, warm cotton. He unfolded it carefully, staring dumbfounded at the small tunic. Fit for a child, a babe, so tiny he could not believe it would be big enough for any child. 

“I thought it may not be too early to start.” Varania said agreeably. “The babe will outgrow them so quickly, it is good to have many. We can cut them up when he is too big and make a blanket. Or, I suppose I can. Your wife is attempting to knit, but it is not going well.” 

_ His mother was rocking in a plain wooden chair, humming under her breath as the needles flashed, clicking softly as Leto laid on the small mat, one arm tossed drowsily over Varania’s skinny shoulders.  _

He put his hand to his forehead and Varania quieted immediately, looking down and fiddling with her sleeve. “I apologize.” She said stiffly. 

“Do not.” He said quickly, eyes flicking up to meet her matching ones. “I want to know what you know about my father. If I am…” If he was to lead men, if he was to be a father of his own. All these things swirled in his head. “I must know.” He finished. 

Varania did not flinch away, but she did pull her eyes from his and looked into the garden, then into the sky before she nodded briskly. “Alright then. Now is as good a time as any, I suppose.” 


	66. The Unwanted Child

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varania tells Fenris about his father and reflects on her own childhood. Blackwall wants.

_ The heat was oppressive in the cramped rented room where Varania’s mother lay dying. Even with the one paltry window open, no breeze entered the room to take away the stale scent of illness or obscure the rattling wheezing of the woman prostrate on a limp mat. Varania knelt, wringing red water from the cloths she held to her mother’s mouth.  _

_ “Leto.” The woman called as the coughs subsided. “Leto, ubi es?”  _

_ “He is out for only a moment.” Varania lied. She had found out days ago it was far easier to lie than to try and explain again that Leto was gone. When Varania had tried, Eleni had only gotten more upset, which led to even more wheezing and coughing. Eleni had coughed so hard the blood had sprayed all over Varania’s skirts and she had only stopped when she lost consciousness and fell back. Varania had thought she had died. Perhaps that would have been kinder than this unending purgatory of the dying. Varania, her thoughts unfocused, drifting, knew her mother could not last longer. There was nothing to be done.  _

_ “Have I told you about your papa, Leto? You look so like him.” Eleni’s words were faint, her eyes far away.  _

_ “You never did.” Varania stated bluntly. “Either of us. We asked you. You did not want to tell us about our fathers.” A shame, she thought. Leto had wanted to know more than anything, not just the muttered and muffled statements from time to time that Leto was just like him. Which was more than Varania had ever gotten.  _

_ “Erat vir bellator, Leto.” Eleni smiled, wistful. “Just like you. He was born free.”  _

_ Varania’s heart stuttered and she looked up from the bloody cloth, eyes fixing on her mother’s frail form. She was silent, waiting with baited breath. She thought Eleni would not continue, that the woman would go back to her raving. Instead, Eleni continued.  _

_ “Danarius acquired him in Seheron. He was a fog warrior, yes? You’ve heard the stories. They travel with fog dancers who summon the fog and hides their movements as if by magic, but they are not magisters. They are not mages. He used to tell me the best stories…”  _

_ The coughing took Eleni again, wracked her whole form, but Varania’s eyes were as wide as plates in her head. Her knuckles were white on the cloth. A freeman, a fog warrior. A legend in Tevinter, the native rebels who killed both Qunari and Magisters in Seheron.  _

_ “Leto wants to hear more, mama.” Varania whispered, captivated. Eleni laughed softly.  _

_ “Ah. Of course you do.” Eleni said fondly. “His name was Chogan, he said he was named for the black birds of Seheron. He was a prize captured in Seheron, the rest of his kin slaughtered. The Magister had healed him and cast him in chains. Tortured him. Tried to break him. Forced him to fight in the munera. Oh, he was fierce. Until…”  _

_ At this Eleni’s gaze dropped, staring at her wrinkled hands. “Et dilexit eum. I was young, Leto. He promised me he would run away and take me with him when I found out I was bearing his child. He said he would raise you to be a fog warrior as well and we would make our own clan. He said he had to kill the Magister first, he had to have justice. And what did justice get us?” She spat in rage, teeth bared. “What is justice for a slave? The Magister boiled his blood while I watched and I have nothing. Nothing!”  _

_ Eleni had come back to the present with a crash, her furious eyes wheeling on Varania. “Striga!” She hissed as Varania flinched away from those rolling white eyes and the woman who had once been her mother, but was now barely more than a corpse. “Mortui essetis. I should have bashed your brains out with a rock or smothered you in your sleep. You were not worth this.” _

_ Varania’s nails bit into her reddened palms as she clenched her fists. “Leto thought I was.” She blurted out, blinking the tears from her eyes.  _

_ “He was wrong!” She gasped out harshly, then began coughing again, hacking, bits of bloody phlegm landing on the pallet, on the ragged blanket, until the woman dropped back, letting out a keening moan. “Leto, meus Leto, meus puer. Puer amica mea.”  _

 

He did not take it well. Varania had, honestly, anticipated he would have reacted better. Now, watching him pace and mutter profanities on the battlements, she wished she would have waited until the evening, insisted on Reyna being present. She watched him warily, leaning back against the cool, rough stone. “I do not understand why you are so upset?” 

He started as if he had forgotten she was there entirely, wheeling around to stare at her. “You are certain?” He snapped. 

“I am not.” She admitted. “Mother died two days after she told me who your father was. She was out of her mind with fever and heartache. I do not believe she lied, however.” 

“Do you know what I have done?” He asked, eyes wide and haunted as one gauntleted hand clenched her shoulder tightly enough to bruise. “You have told me I murdered my own kin.” 

“You have no kin, if what mother said was accurate.” Varania protested, ignoring the pain radiating down her arm and fighting the urge to pull away. “None except me and Sabina.” 

“Danarius, when I escaped… I…” He released his hold, bowing his head and unable to meet her eyes. “I was taken in by fog warriors when Danarius abandoned me in Seheron. They cared for my wounds, nursed me back to health. I stayed with them until…” 

She knew where this was going and sighed, not even flinching as Fenris lashed out, his fist colliding with the stone next to her, sending dust scattering. “Until he returned.” She surmised darkly. 

“I had grown fond of them, but he ordered me to kill them, and I did. Like a rabid dog.” Fenris snarled. “And they were my kin.” 

Varania only sighed even more heavily, crossing her arms around her chest and hugging them to herself, staring out over the mountains in the distance. “I killed them all.” He muttered darkly. “When it was done, I looked down and I finally found the courage to run. Too late, of course.” 

“Reyna would say you are not what you were ordered to do.” Varania said slowly. “I’m afraid I cannot emulate her cheerful optimism. I’m not sure I believe her, anyway.” 

“Truly? I am not sure I do either.” He admitted, finally meeting her eyes. “I cannot… I cannot be a better man. I am not worthy.” 

“Why not?” Varania demanded, uncrossing her arms. “You have a child on the way, you cannot afford to wallow in self-pity.” 

“Fasta vass, I will not be scolded by you.” Fenris exclaimed, walking away. Varania followed along the battlements, a bitter anger rising in her throat as she reached out, her own fingers catching his elbow. He twisted, catching her arm and pulling it away from his armor, slamming her back against the stone hard, but she was unfazed. 

“I knew a man who would have given the moon and stars and everything in this world to be an example to his child of a good man. He is dead and you are alive and yet you sulk because you are  _ unworthy _ ?” She hissed, ripping away from Fenris and jutting her chin out, standing as straight as she could, temper bubbling under the surface. “How dare you be so selfish, Leto?” 

Fenris reeled back, and so did she as soon as the words left her mouth. She’d already brought one hand up to her lips as if to cover her slip, and he was staring at her. They were silent, staring, measuring. And then, as if they had rehearsed, they both turned and fled in different directions. 

 

She did not find Reyna for Sabina’s reading lessons, nor did Reyna find them. Instead, Varania retrieved Sabina and they took their supper in the gardens. A soldier lit torches as the sun sunk low in the horizon and Varania continued to idly pick at the remains of their supper, a luxury truly. How often had she had the time to sit and brood over a meal while Sabina played with other children? Perhaps, Varania thought wryly, it was a luxury she could have done without experiencing. Her eyes flicked up to catch sight of Sabina kneeling on the ground next to a boy with dark hair, well dressed. Too well dressed, noble? She stood, anxious, mouth opening in fear. Nobles could not be trusted, nor their heirs, and… 

“She must be your child, yes?” A human woman with strange yellow eyes asked, melting out of the gathering shadows and smiling serenely at the children. “I could not catch what Kieran called her.”

“Sabina.” Varania answered automatically, taking in the woman before her, observing Sabina and the boy from the corner of her eye. The woman in front of her was a mage, the mana singing brightly. “Is he your son?” She asked. 

“Yes.” And with that, Varania relaxed by a degree. The woman tilted her head in amusement. “Most people do not find that reassuring.” 

“I do not fear magic.” Varania stated firmly, settling herself back on the bench. “I would not wish Sabina to play with a boy who called her knife ear, as so many human children tend to.”

“Kieran is a good lad, he would not do such a thing. Allow me to introduce myself, I am called Morrigan and recently arrived in Skyhold myself.” She said simply, sitting on the bench across from Varania. 

“I am Varania.” She introduced stiffly, raising one hand to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “How old is your little girl?” Morrigan asked, leaning forward in curiosity. 

“She will be five in two months.” Varania answered simply. “And your son?”

“Nine.” Morrigan answered, smiling softly. “But wise for his age.”

She felt the faint pull of mana from the children's direction and looked up, seeing the boy standing now, head and shoulders looming above Sabina. His hand was over her open palm, and in the space between the two children's hands sparks like fireflies flickered, reflecting in their eyes. 

“That is Sabina, yes?” Morrigan asked, tipping her head introspectively like a great raven. “It does not feel like Kieran, but he has a habit of surprising me.”

“No. It is Sabina.” At the sound of her name, Varania saw the dark head swivel and a wide grin break over her impish features. “I see Bina. Be careful.” She called. 

“Very well done for one so young.” Morrigan nodded approvingly. “You must be very proud.” 

Varania said nothing, she only smiled a little as the other woman allowed silence to fall over them like a comfortable blanket. She was terrified and elated by the flickering sparks that Sabina extinguished in her fist. 

And yes, proud. It was a secret spark of her own she clutched to her chest jealously. She was so very proud. 

Sabina's magic would not make her an unwanted child. 

 

She should not have been surprised that Nico's spectre haunted her in the fade. She was relatively certain it was no demon wearing his face this time, wailing to her to give into despair and rage and take vengeance on the world. Instead he was a shade furnished by her own guilty conscience that startled her awake before dawn, his lips covered in blood as her mother's had been when she died. She did not dare return to slumber and consigned herself to facing the day. 

She washed her face in the shallow porcelain basin, shivering as the icy water ran down her cheeks. When dawn illuminated the sky, she heated it for Sabina and roused her from the fade. She twisted her daughter's beautiful mane into a bun at the nape of her neck, setting hers into a matching one. Sabina rubbed sleep from her eyes as they crossed to the mage's tower. 

“Little goose!” A plump elderly woman called to Sabina as they entered. “You are quite early this morning. No matter, you'll help me set the room for the others, yes?” 

“Mama, may I?” Sabina entreated, tugging on the serviceable cotton skirt Varania wore. 

“You may.” Varania answered wearily as Sabina took off, racing up the stairs chased by the elderly woman who, improbably, called each child a goose. 

“Milady!” An adolescent called cheerfully from the far corner, herbs haphazardly scattered over the table before her, some stuck in her robes and hair. She was attempting to grind elfroot into powder, putting such effort into it that her tongue curled out of her mouth like a pumpkin stem. “I meant to have this done for you, I promise!” 

“Rose.” Varania greeted, tone measured to hide her exasperation. “The elfroot must be dried prior to grinding it.” 

“Oh! Of course! If my head wasn't attached…” She dumped the ruined herb from her bowl, smiling sweetly. 

Varania was nearly certain Rose was at least sixteen. She had the milk-fed good looks of a country girl, all plump curves and ample bosom, but the face or an innocent child. Varania was also certain Rose needed to thank Andraste herself each day for her good looks because she was almost as certain there was not much happening at all beneath Rose's silky blond hair. Despite that, she was kind if as silly as a plucked chicken. It would not be fair to take out her ill humor on…

Rose’s careless elbow knocked a series of glass flasks onto the ground, shattering them into hundreds of pieces. Rose giggled with an exclamation about her clumsiness and Varania ignored the sympathetic looks from all the other mages. Rose had tried, and failed, all other magical disciplines. She'd been tasked to take lessons from the healers, which mostly meant Varania because Hawke was more often than not locked up trying to cure red lyrium illness. Varania took a deep, steadying breath and pinched the bridge of her nose. 

“Maker's breath, girl.” Another mage said from the steps, a middle aged elven man. He represented the other section of Varania's students. If she wasn't teaching adolescents and wincing at their carelessness and haste, she was pinned underneath the skeptical gazes of trained enchanters who had never decided it was necessary to learn to patch wounds until they found themselves in the midst of a rebellion. “Clean that up, and do try not to create another disaster in the meantime.” 

“Eldar.” Varania greeted the man with a nod. He smiled wryly at her. 

“You.” He pronounced thoughtfully. “Look like you need some tea, Ser.” 

“I would not turn it down.” She stated as she knelt next to Rose, picking up the longest shards of glass carefully. Eldar glided down the stairs and made for a kettle in the corner. The door to the tower opened once more and they all looked to the young man standing there, breathless and flushed, clutching his side. He looked, frantically, around the tower before his eyes landed on Varania and he visibly sagged against the door frame in relief.

“Thank Andraste!” The young man mopped his brow. “They said get one of the  healers. You weren’t in your room, Messere, and, well, the Champion...yesterday I tried to deliver a message to her husband and well, he was…” Varania raised a questioning eyebrow, sitting back on her heels. “Sweet Maker! He’s your brother, isn’t he? I didn’t mean any offense, Messere, I just… I just really don’t want to deliver messages there anymore.” He admitted with a swallow and his voice cracking on the last syllable. 

“So you ran to my room, then when you found I was not there, ran here instead of knocking on their door down the hall?” She questioned, torn between amusement and irritation. “I hope no one is dying.” 

“There’s been an accident, in the arena where they practice with the horses. Outside the walls.” The man gulped in air in between his rambling statements. “They asked for a healer.” 

“Venhedis.” Varania hissed, standing up and dumping the shards onto the table. “I hope, for your sake, no lives have been lost because of your foolish fear of knocking on a blasted door.” She scolded. 

“Can I go?” Rose asked brightly. “I’ll carry your bags. I packed them all full last night with everything a healer would need.” 

She was about to curse again before Eldar broke in. “Don’t fret, I oversaw the process. I would be more than willing to accompany you and assist.” The older man left out that he would almost certainly be assisting most by watching Rose. 

“Go to the stables and have my horse saddled. Have another horse hitched to a cart and tell one of the grooms we’ll need him to accompany us to drive the cart.” Varania instructed. 

“I don’t know which horse is yours, Messere.” The scout blabbered. Varania could not help herself any longer.

“Perhaps.” She broke in icily. “You should use whatever brains the Maker blessed you with and ask one of the grooms which horse is mine. Or should I take you by the ear and drag you to the stables to show you myself?” 

The young man paled and stumbled back out the door. Eldar chuckled, continuing to pour a mug of tea from the kettle and cooling it before handing it to her. 

“Drink this, before you bite someone’s head off.” He ordered fondly. “Rose and I will get everything ready, yes Rose?” 

“Of course!” Rose jumped up, nearly knocking the rest of the glass vials off the table. “Right away! I love to help!”

This, Varania thought sourly, was her punishment for all the wrongs she’d committed in her life. 

 

The yard full of trampled grass was called the arena, but it was nothing like the arenas of the munera. Instead, it was more a training yard. Usually it was filled with scouts and soldiers practicing their archery on horseback or running charges on their large mounts. On a fine spring day such as this, it should have been filled with men and women churning up the mud. Instead, the Horsemaster of the Inquisition was yelling at noone in particular, his assistants holding a shuddering horse steady as he inspected the broken leg of the animal. Beside the animal, only several yards away from where it shivered, was a knot of soldiers surrounding someone laying on the ground. 

One of those surrounding the figure broke off as they approached, standing straight, head and shoulders above most of the rest of the group. Varania could not help the small quirk of her lips. “Warden Blackwall.” She greeted. 

“My lady.” He called with a nod of his head, jaw set tight. “Glad to see you. Fool girl was showing off when the horse spooked and threw her. I gave orders not to move her.” 

He approached the horse and patted Tyrus gently before moving to her side. “Can I help you dismount?” He asked chivalrously. Rose giggled, tightening her deathgrip on Varania’s waist and hiding her smiling face behind her blond curls. Blackwall looked to the girl and quirked an eyebrow. 

“This is Rose. She’ll need help.” She introduced. She did not add the uncharitable thought that Rose needed more help than Blackwall was capable of giving. The cart pulled up beside them and Eldar lept nimbly from the back like a man of half his years. 

Rose batted her eyelashes as Blackwall wrapped his arms around her waist and sat her down, taking perhaps a second too long to use him to settle herself. Varania nearly rolled her eyes as she slipped from the horse herself, handing the reins to the groom who had driven the cart. Someone would need to talk to the girl about making a spectacle of herself. 

“Wise of you not to move her.” Varania commented, brushing her hands against her cotton skirt as she walked toward the figure on the ground. The horsemaster was still yelling. “Can you please calm him? Tell him I’ll see to the horse after the girl.” 

“He says he’ll have to kill it.” Blackwall stated mournfully, glaring at the man. “Damned fine horse.” 

“He will not need to kill it.” Varania said evenly, clearing her throat as she approached the group. “Perhaps everyone should step away from the girl?” 

“You heard the woman.” Blackwall growled low in his throat. The crowd parted respectfully and stepped back as Varania dropped to her knees in the muck. 

“I can’t feel my legs.” The girl cried, panicked eyes rolling to fix on Varania. “Healer, help me, I can’t feel my legs!”

“Calm yourself.” Varania ordered, pressing one hand above the girl’s abdomen and searching. “If it can be fixed, we’ll see it fixed.” 

“Oh, don’t you worry.” Rose had settled on the other side of the girl, folding her hand into Rose’s own. “She’s the best healer the Inquisition has.” 

Varania was not sure that was true, but between Rose’s simple chatter and the stroking motion of Rose’s fingers over the girl’s knuckles, the other woman relaxed. Eldar settled in beside Varania, pausing before Varania nodded and indicated that Eldar should put his hand over the girl’s abdomen.

“The spine is fractured.” Varania moved her hand up and down the abdomen. “The spinal cord itself appears bruised, but not torn.” 

“A good thing. Means her legs are only numb, not gone.” Eldar looked to her as if to confirm. Varania nodded in approval.

“Correct. Still, it is a tricky fracture. See? The bone is jagged. A slip while putting it back together, and the the cord can be shorn. Then she will not walk.” Varania indicated the site of the fracture again, watched Eldar’s brow furrow. A blanket of anxiety settling over his pointed features when the girl below them whimpered. 

“Settle.” Rose cooed to the girl, squeezing her hand. “Milady Varania won’t slip, but Eldar’s got to learn to do this too.” 

“Just watch.” Varania ordered. “I will not have you assist, this time. Please make sure she is still.” 

The man’s relief was palpable. Varania called her mana to her hand, delving deep into the warm magic, twisting it, watching the light come to her fingers and then sink into the girl’s abdomen. So careful she barely breathed, she spun the light into filaments as thin as the finest gold thread and began to stitch the bone and muscle back together, soothing the bruised spinal cord as she worked. A fine sheen of sweat came to her head and Rose gently reached over and mopped Varania’s forehead with her sleeve. 

Twenty minutes later, Varania’s own shoulders sagged and she sat back. “I can...I can feel my legs, Messere.” The girl whispered. 

“Of course you can.” Varania said impatiently, flicking her own hair from her eyes as she stood. “I’d still like to get her to the surgeon, Eldar. She’ll need to rest and no riding or strenuous activity until we clear her. I’d prefer her not to stand yet without assistance.” 

“We’ll get her up and into the cart, then take her back to Skyhold.” Eldar agreed, standing as well. “You want help seeing to the horse?” 

“No.” Varania shook her head, eyes flicking up toward the horse. Between her and it stood Warden Blackwall, his dark, warm eyes fixed on her. Something burned in them so fiercely she almost felt it on her own skin. It dried her mouth until he tore his eyes away, rubbing the back of his neck as if ashamed to have been caught staring. 

“No.” Varania repeated, shaking her head to clear it. “Take Rose and head back. I will return on my own.” 

“As you wish.” Eldar jerked his chin at the cart. “Rose, get that groom to bring the cart closer. Preferably without incident.”

Varania walked away from the girl on the ground, towards the Warden. He stepped out of her way as she approached the horse. “She’ll walk?” Blackwall asked. 

“She will.” Varania confirmed, choosing to focus on the horse. It whinnied nervously. 

“Watch yourself, milady.” Blackwall warned. “Horses aren’t known for being the best behaved when injured.” 

“He won’t hurt me.” Varania made her way to the horse’s head, kneeling beside it and stroking it’s velvet cheek. “Bonum puerum. Nocere tibi? Ego auxiliatus sum tibi, nolite solliciti esse.” 

“It’s rude to speak your foreign tongue here.” The horsemaster scowled. 

“The horse understands it just as well as he understands anything else.” Blackwall defended, scowling. “Let the lady work.” 

“Which leg is broken?” Varania asked. The horsemaster indicated the creature’s hind leg. Varania made her way to it, continuing to softly mutter under her breath. A simple fracture, nothing major.

“The horse will be as good as new.” Varania stated, stroking the beast’s trembling hindquarters. “He will need to rest for at least a week.”

“Done. Just fix the poor thing.” The Horsemaster ordered. Varania sighed, fighting the urge to roll her eyes as she bent over the leg, bringing her magic back to her fingers. 

After ten minutes, Varania stood and nodded. “Keep him down for a few moments, but he should be good to walk.” 

“Thank you. Not bad work.” The horsemaster muttered. “Be glad to buy you a drink, sometime.” 

“I do not find myself in the tavern often.” Ever, honestly. The horsemaster nodded gruffly. 

“Ah, too bad. Suppose my gratitude will have to suffice.” He drawled. 

“Might let her little girl hop on one of those ponies and learn to ride. Foals need to feel the weight anyway to get used to being ridden. She’s a little thing, wouldn’t be too much for them.” The Warden offered. Varania almost turned to snap at him for requesting such a thing. 

“Hah! Done. It’ll be more a boon to me than you. Have a daughter myself, now she’s running fool races, miss her being little and riding the foals.” The horsemaster grinned, then strode away, leaving Varania in stunned silence. 

“Your students have already left.” The Warden indicated the dispersed knot of soldiers, the cart vanished. “I’d be happy to accompany you back. I was heading to the sparring yard myself.” 

“How did you know the horsemaster would say yes?” Varania asked as they turned. “To Sabina riding the ponies.” 

“I didn’t, but it never hurts to ask.” The warden answered cheerfully. “I can put her on one myself at lunch, if you’d like.” 

“Thank you.” Varania could not help but smile. “She’ll be thrilled.” 

“Then that is all the thanks I need.” Blackwall returned her own tentative smile, his hidden under the thick beard. “Let’s get back to the castle.” 

 

The ride to the arena had seemed much shorter than facing it riding back alone with Warden Blackwall. The silence between them felt...awkward in light of the heated glance she’d intercepted. She patted Tyrus’s mane more to reassure herself than the horse. “You’re a kind man.” Varania felt...nervous. Like she should be fiddling with her hair. Which was something Rose would do. This steeled her spine until the man chuckled. 

“Perhaps. You are an easy woman to be kind to. Strong, proud, fierce. It’s easy to see where Sabina gets her spirit from.” His voice rumbled, and he was so close as they rode she could almost feel it in her chest. “She reminds me of my sister, Liddy. She… she died, as a child. An illness she never could quite get over.” 

Varania felt something ache in her chest, a fevered memory of Sabina’s hot cheek against her neck, her arms aching from carrying her, but feeling helplessly empty when Fenris took her burden and held her secure. Too fresh a wound to examine in any neutral way. “I’m sorry. I do not know what I would do if I lost Sabina.” 

A lie. She would die, she knew it when the fever had almost burned Sabina up. It would have been the final wound she could not recover from. “My mother died not long after, half from a broken heart.” Blackwall admitted. “Father crawled into a bottle. Ah, but that’s too sad a story for such a fine day and a ride with a fine woman. You ride twice as well as you did when you came, like a queen.” 

“My brother would not agree.” Varania pointed out, feeling churlish. Fenris was as harsh a taskmaster as Leto had been when they were children, instantly correcting the slightest mistake. Blackwall laughed.

“Well, you can tell him I think you’ve done fine.” He praised. 

 

Rose was waiting for them at the stables. With a promise to return with Sabina at lunch, Varania took Rose’s arm and tugged her away. The girl was giggling before they’d even begun to climb the steps. “How was it? Him escorting you back?” She pressed. “He’s so  _ fine _ , isn’t he? A real man, my da would have said.” 

“It was pleasant and professional.” Varania hissed, nearly pushing the girl up the stairs. 

“There’s nothing professional in the way he looks at you, milady.” Rose smiled, infuriatingly delighted. “Can’t take his eyes off you, can he? Even now.” 

Although she knew it would only spur Rose on, she looked over her shoulder and met those dark eyes again through the crowd, quickly torn from her as he rushed away and into the stable. Rose giggled even louder. “He wants to serve you, all knightly devotion and chivalry. Like in a romance!” 

“Will you be quiet?” Varania huffed, storming past the girl. “You do not know what you are speaking about.” 

But she did, and Varania knew it. And she knew something else had uncurled in her chest, something bright and tentative and full of hope. He  _ wants _ you. 

An unwanted child with bloody hands and a sunken, gaunt face was hidden in her heart. And it clutched at the thought greedily, stowing it away with all the other half forgotten, half banished things. He wants you, you are not unwanted. 

There was a possibility there, and it was enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *ubi es: where are you?   
> *erat vir bellator: He was a warrior.  
> *et dilexit eum: I loved him.   
> *striga: Witch  
> *mortui essetis: You should be dead.   
> *Leto, meus Leto, meus puer. Puer amica mea: Leto, my Leto, my boy. My darling boy.  
> *Bonum puerum. Nocere tibi? Ego auxiliatus sum tibi, nolite solliciti esse: Good boy. Are you hurt? I will help, do not worry.


	67. Hard and Soft

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Inquisition is a study in extremes, as is the Inquisitor.

“Quia non pertinent hic. Et ego non sum de heros.” Cole mumbled, staring thoughtfully into the snow. “I do not belong here. I am not a hero.”

Varric looked up from his frankly freezing fingers, puzzled, just as he heard the lock click. Maria popped the latch the rest of the way, carefully pulling the documents out. Her breath was a cloud in the air as her eyes scanned them quickly. The Emprise du Lion had not gotten the memo, apparently, that it was spring. Even in her thickest leathers, he could see Maria shivering. “That sounded like Tevene, kid, but I have to admit, I’m only fluent in the cursing.” 

“That’s what she told the horse in the stable. Blackwall wanted to know.” Cole said simply. 

“What are you talking about, Cole?” Blackwall asked, using a handful of snow to clean the blood from his face. 

“Soft, sweet, silky words that tumble like music, but she can’t sing. The song is frozen in the garden. Her dress is beautiful, but she’s also beautiful under the dress.” Cole continued idly, rubbing his palms together. Varric had never seen Maria drop official documents so quickly, shoving them at Cassandra impatiently. 

“Maker’s balls!” Blackwall groaned, covering his face. “Get out of my head, will you? You make me sound like a dirty old bastard.” 

“Yes!” Maria breathed quietly, delight shining all over her face.

“Do you want to hear what she thinks about you?” Cole asked, and Varric could almost swear the kid had a sly expression on his face that was nearly a match for Maria’s. 

“No!” Blackwall protested, and Maker’s breath, was he blushing under all that beard?

“You should.” Cole smiled. 

“I do!” Maria interrupted. 

“Absolutely not.” Blackwall was covering his face now. “Sweet Andraste, will you all leave me alone?” 

“Inquisitor, if you could focus on the mission.” Cassandra scowled at the back of Maria’s head, but even Varric could swear her mouth was quivering in delight. “These papers confirm that the red templars are dug in at Suledin Keep.” 

“They’ll have to wait their turn, Cass. I’m saving those miners first, if any of them are still alive.” Maria put two fingers in her mouth and whistled, calling the attention of Dorian and Solas, who were both glaring at a spike of red lyrium bursting from the frozen ground some distance away. At least, Varric thought, they were standing a decent distance back. Varric didn’t want to go near the stuff. He swore he could  _ hear _ it. A whispering of words he couldn’t quite catch. 

“You two coming along?” Maria asked, unslinging her bow from her back. “Cole picked something  _ amazing _ from Blackwall’s head.” 

“Inquisitor, please.” Blackwall nearly begged. But it was Dorian’s cheerful shout back that caused them all to laugh. 

“How did he find anything worth hearing up there?” 

“Ease up, hero.” Varric grinned, following Maria’s swaying hips in the snow as they descended into the mines. “I know it’s a radical suggestion but have you considered maybe just… telling her? She’s down at those stables all the time, I doubt it’s just for the horse.” 

“No. Never occurred to me.” Blackwall scowled down at him. “End of story.” 

“She’s prickly as an electrocuted porcupine, but she’s got a soft heart under all that.” Varric continued. “I’d put serious money on her being as romantic as the Seeker.” 

“Why are you doing this? You are the last person I wish to have this conversation with.” Blackwall seethed, shooting a pointed glare after Maria then back at Varric. 

“If you’d ever gotten the nerve to tell her, she’d have told you she wasn’t interested.” Varric shrugged easily. “Varania, on the other hand…” 

“I have a duty and I will not shirk it. I will not give a woman less than she deserves and if I cannot give…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Careful of Broody though.” Varric remarked casually. “I exaggerate sometimes.” 

“Sometimes?” Cassandra scoffed from behind him. 

“Sometimes.” Varric repeated. “But not about Broody’s...proclivity toward solving problems bloodily. Although Spitfire may be just as dangerous.”

“Of that, I have very little doubt.” Blackwall replied dryly. “Now, may we please drop this?” 

 

Dorian had told him, so he shouldn’t have been surprised. In the horrifying future Redcliffe, Maria had stumbled upon Ser Cullen Rutherford, Commander of the Inquisition’s forces, languishing in a jail cell. He had become red lyrium, like fertilizer for a nightmarish plant, and Maria had slit his throat rather than leave him to his fate.

So how else would the templars make red lyrium? Of course they were growing it out of people. He shouldn’t have been surprised that something as horrible as red lyrium kept getting worse. 

“It’s angry.” Cole whispered, eying the lyrium climbing the mine. “But not as angry as she is.” 

Maria’s arms were crossed over her chest, she was staring down at a man who was gasping and wheezing, his arm complete gone to the lyrium, shattered shards of it sticking up from his abdomen. The mage stood up, shaking her head. 

“He is too far gone, your worship.” The woman said softly. “He is dying.” 

“Maker it hurts. Maker, help me.” The young man cried. Maria nodded, sinking to her knees in the snow beside the man. 

“Go see if any of the others can be saved.” Maria ordered, gently pushing the man’s hair from his forehead and taking his hand. “What’s your name?” 

“Alan.” The man said, his hand squeezing hers. “Thank you. Thank you for coming. Thank you.” 

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here soon enough.” Maria whispered, squeezing his hand back. “Do you have any family, Alan?” 

“My ma. She’s in Sahrnia. Unless they took her. They took everyone.” The man shook, his whole form shuddering as he cried out in pain again. Maria closed her grey eyes for a second, opening them again.

“Look at me, Alan. If she lives, I’ll find her and see her taken care of.” Maria promised, her hand slipping from his face to the dagger at her waist. 

“Maria.” Varric called. She froze, then looked up across the young man’s body to him. The sorrow in her eyes was unfathomable, but underneath it he could see the rage burning her alive. “You don’t have to do this.” 

“I do.” She replied softly. “It’s alright, Varric. I’m okay.” 

He doubted it, even as the knife flashed in the bright sun. Maria’s voice called out the young man’s name. “Alan, look at me. You’re not alone, you got it? I’m here with you.” 

“Andraste.” The man mumbled, “Andraste, take me to your side.” 

The dagger, it’s beautiful handled fashioned with love by a boy who died in Hercinia, cut smoothly through the boys neck. The red flowed down his throat as he stared up into Maria’s eyes, her other hand holding his tightly until he finally went limp in the snow and Maria let go and reached up to close his eyes. She stood and didn’t meet Varric’s eyes as she turned to follow the healers.

“I should have been here.” Cole whispered. “Guilt twists into a knot. Scent of blood in the air. I can’t save them. What if I can’t save any of them? Blood on the knife, blood on my hands.” 

Varric sighed, opened his jacket pocket, and wrote the name Alan on one line in his journal. 

 

It was a beleaguered and silent group that crawled out of the mines and back to the tower, to the camp and barricades hastily erected by Inquisition troops. “Inquisitor.” A woman saluted. “We have 63 refugees saved from the mines. We’re keeping them here overnight and will escort them back to the town tomorrow.” 

“I have a list.” Maria said, pulling the piece of paper torn from Varric’s journal. “Casualties. People we were able to identify, people who… were too ill to make it. Their families should be notified. Tell the camp down there I want food, blankets, medicine, anything those people need in that town. Spare no expense.” 

“As you wish, your worship.” The woman said, taking the paper with a brisk nod. “That Qunari was looking for you. Said he had a surprise for all of you, despite you leaving him behind.” 

“Well, if he wasn’t so good at moving heavy objects, we’d have taken him with us. As it is, looks like he did great work getting this place set up.” Dorian muttered, looking up at the towers. “Even looks stable, surprisingly.” 

“Never had any doubt in him.” Maria said stoutly, wiping her hand across her eyes. “See what he wants first or just go to sleep?” 

“You’ll definitely want to see it, your worship.” The soldier advised before hurrying away. Maria tipped her head inquisitively. 

“Well, now I’m curious.” Varric offered. “Let’s see what Tiny, Vivienne, and Sera were up to.” 

He was floored by what he found as they walked around the corner. Tents in orderly rows were lined out to the very edge of the great chasm, but their eyes were immediately drawn to the left. “Sweet baby Andraste.” Varric grinned. “Look at that. How did they manage it?” 

Beside the tents, surrounded by strolling soldiers and gawking refugees, was a garden of snow sculptures. There was a spiraling castle made of solid ice with windows that reflected the gleaming light of the evening in rainbows across the snow. A dragon carved out of the snow looking as if it was peeking out from a den, complete with a clutch of eggs. A bear large enough to eat the dragon alive. The great flaming eyeball carved into another ice sculpture. A giant pair of breasts with incredibly realistic nipples. 

For the first time since they’d climbed into the mines, Maria laughed as Cassandra scoffed in disapproval. “Quizzie!” Sera called from below them, her plaidweave leggings garish against the white snow. “Look! Titsicles!” And with that and a great laugh, Sera turned and made a motorboating motion in front of the giant breasts. 

“Maker help us.” Cassandra groaned, pinching her nose. 

“Hey boss!” Bull called with a cheerful grin. “See my dragon?” 

Without another word, Maria slid down the nearest ladder, landing in the snow and approaching the sculptures with a bewildered sort of awe. “There you are darling.” Vivienne sniffed, taking Maria’s arm gently. “I heard it was horrid, but some of the soldiers can play something akin to music. Let us celebrate the people you saved, and tomorrow we’ll take vengeance on the rest of the templars.” 

“Vivienne, this isn’t the time for dancing.” Maria protested. 

“And what better time is there, darling?” Vivienne asked, raising a finely arched eyebrow. “Let Corypheus hear that you danced on the ashes of his templars. Let all of Thedas know, dear, that there is still joy to be had. It’s good for morale, your soldiers and these refugees need it.” Vivienne paused, eying Maria speculatively. “You need it. Get cleaned up and come back down or I will come looking for you. And Varric, we didn’t bother putting a tent up for you.” 

With that, Vivienne swept away, leaving them to admire the sculptures. “If you don’t want to go, we can sneak out around back.” Varric offered. Maria smiled, a brief twitch of her lips. 

“Maybe she’s right. It would be nice to be reminded that there’s more than blood and death.” She admitted, looping her arm through his. “What would I do without the lot of you?” 

“Get a lot more done, honestly. How much time do you think this took them?” He asked staring up at the delicate ice palace. 

“Hmm, maybe.” She admitted, leaning her head on his shoulder. “But it wouldn’t be nearly as fun and I’d be well on my way to a grave of my own.” 

 

Each time he went back to Skyhold, he felt a decade older. He was also fairly certain that each time they returned, the population doubled. Word of their arrival, after over a month gone, had spread before their approach like wildfire. Cullen met them outside of the fortress halfway through the armies camping outside. 

“There’s a crowd of people, Inquisitor, awaiting your arrival. Pilgrims, mostly.” He explained awkwardly. “I could attempt to disperse them, I know you’ve had a long journey…” 

“It’s alright, Cullen.” Maria soothed, leaning down from her horse. “I’m assuming they want to see me? They’re going to be disappointed, I’m not half as grand as the stories make me sound.” 

“Probably stay on the horse, if they actually want to see you.” Bull advised, dismounting from his own. 

“I usually prefer not to be surrounded by crotches, yes.” Maria teased as Vivienne pulled up beside her, reaching over to tug the neat bun at her neck free. 

“Ow!” She complained. Vivienne shrugged elegantly. 

“They may not know you if they cannot see either the hair or mark.” Vivienne reasoned, fluffing the red strands around her face. It made her look delightfully ruffled, as if Maria had just rolled out of their bed again. 

“We could scale the walls instead.” Cassandra remarked stiffly. “That may be preferable.” 

“And miss the opportunity to preen?” Dorian looked positively aghast. “Let the Inquisitor appear before her adoring public!” 

“Do I look like shit?” Maria fretted. 

“Not likely.” Sera muttered. “Could follow you all day, and I ain’t the only one, right?” 

“Aye aye!” Varric winked. “Sera and I will, obviously, stay right behind you and appreciate your fine figure.” 

“I’ll walk beside you, boss. Just in case someone’s got a knife.” Bull nodded, taking his place at Maria’s side. On the horse she towered above him by just her head and it made her grin. 

“I think you’re just enjoying letting me feel tall.” She said, urging her horse on. “Let’s get this over with so I can take a real bath.” 

The crowd was at the end of the bridge leading into Skyhold, a mass of people. Women, men, children, dwarves and elves. They cheered as the Inquisitor approached, surging forward. Varric could hear cries of “Your worship!” and “Maker bless you, my lady!” Cullen rode beside Maria’s other side, but he was quickly getting pushed farther from her by the crowd until he dismounted from his own horse, swearing under his breath. 

Varric looked up at the battlements and saw the shock of white hair first. He rose his hand in a salute that was returned, not by Broody, but by the dark haired child in his arms. On either side of them, leaning on the stone, was Hawke and Varania. 

“No!” Cole shouted, his cry rending the air. Varric snapped back to attention, his first instinct to turn to the kid and see what in the Maker’s name his issue was. But he didn’t have time. 

Cullen still had not made it to Maria’s side in the crowd. She’d heard Cole and had turned to look back over her shoulder, her eyes met his quizzically. And that was not where she should have been looking. The man in front of her, on the opposite side of Bull, had snatched the reins in the air and pulled them from her hands. There was a shimmer of steel in the air. 

Everything was frozen just for a moment, Bianca was in his hands without thought and the bolt was flying, a perfect shot at the rogue’s heart but the blade was moving in the air, shoving upwards toward Maria’s ribcage. 

Bull charged around the horse, knocking Maria from the saddle and taking the wound mean for her, blade sinking into unguarded flesh with only a grunt from Bull. Maria landed in a crumpled pile on the ground as the horse reared back in terror, slammed back down on it’s hooves, reared up again. People were screaming and the bolt from Bianca sunk into the assassin's back, sending him careening forward into Bull. 

Cullen grabbed the reins of the horse, but Varric was already off his pony, running forward, pushing people from the way. He could hear the rest of their team following him, Dorian closest, then they burst into the empty circle around the Inquisitor.

She was already on her feet, bow in hand and an arrow cocked, looking not much worse for wear. She looked to them and jerked her chin to Iron Bull. “Tend to him.” She ordered, kicking the man with the bolt in his back onto his side, her arrow still drawn threateningly towards him. 

Dorian raced toward Bull, but Varric stayed right where he was, Bianca still loaded and pointed at the man. 

“Who are you working for?” Maria asked, voice soft and laced with venom. 

“Fuck you, whore.” The man spat. Without blinking, Maria stepped forward and stomped on his wrist, causing an agonized wail. 

“Tell me.” She hissed. 

“There can be no compromise.” The man said, eyes fixed on Maria. He grinned, his mouth filled with blood. “There can be no half-measures.” Varric felt something cold run down his spine. 

“Inquisitor!” Cullen called, pulling her back. “Step away from him.” 

“There can be no turning back.” The man coughed, blood splattering on the ground, before he fell limp. 

“Varric…” Maria whispered, her eyes flicking to his. “Is that...is that really what  _ he _ said?” 

Yes. Varric had quoted Anders accurately in the book. That’s why Cullen had pulled her back. He had been there that fateful day. 

“Yes. Shit.” Varric glared at the corpse. “Are you alright?” 

“Bruised. Bull, though… and Maker, Cullen, all these people… What if there’s someone else?” Maria asked warily.

“I will have everyone interviewed by Leliana’s people. We’ll get to the bottom of it.” Cullen promised, squeezing Maria’s shoulder. “I promise.”

“Don’t scare them, Cullen. They’re mostly pilgrims and refugees, I won’t see them bullied.” Maria ordered. Cullen nodded. 

With that, Maria turned to Bull. Dorian had removed the blade and was holding a poultice to the Qunari’s ribs. 

“You alright, Boss?” Bull asked as they approached. 

“Course I am, you took the blow.” Maria sighed, shaking her head. “How bad is it, Dorian?” 

“He’ll need stitches or a healer. Fasta vass, you fool. Why did you not disarm him?” Dorian demanded furiously. 

“And miss the opportunity to have you fuss over me like a mother hen?” Iron Bull asked. 

He heard the commotion before they stepped into view, Hawke’s dark braid swinging. 

“Thank the Maker, we saw you go down, but you didn’t get up.” Hawke breathed in relief, one hand resting on the now very visible bulge in her tunic. “It isn’t nice to make me run the whole way down here.” 

“I told you not to run.” Fenris growled. “The Qunari is injured.” 

“You look like you swallowed a whole week of cheese.” Varric observed. Fenris winced as Hawke glared, smoothing the tunic over her rounded stomach. 

“A whole wheel of cheese?” Hawke asked dangerously.

“You’re glowing. Absolutely beautiful.” Maria reassured, gently steering Hawke towards Bull. “And so tiny for how far along you are! Now, can you help Bull?” 

Varric felt very much like he’d just dodged a bolt of his own as Fenris followed, eying the man on the ground. “Assassin?” The elf questioned. 

“Apparently.” Varric muttered. “He quoted Blondie.” 

“No mama, no. Don’t send him to the templars, please. I’ll keep him safe. But the templars killed him. Killed them all and she calls her inquisition justice. I’d see her with her throat cut like they slit his.” Cole mumbled, staring at the body. “He was so angry.” 

 

Luckily, they were able to make it to Maria’s quarters without interuption beyond Josephine fussing over her and stating that she’d already ordered a bath drawn. Varric hissed when Maria pulled her shirt over her head, looking at the red marks lining her back and legs that would surely turn to nasty bruises. “We should have Hawke look at those. It’s not every day you fall off a horse.”

“Not anymore.” Maria agreed, sinking into the steaming water with a moan of pure pleasure. “Remember when Cullen had me learning evasive riding at Haven?” 

“At least they let you have a smaller horse for that.” Varric grinned, watching as Maria slipped under the water. She broke the surface again seconds later, turning in the tub and crossing her arms on the edge, resting her chin on them, observing him studiously.

“You don’t talk about him much, Anders.” Maria stated simply. “I know almost everything about Hawke, Merrill, Aveline, Isabela, Carver, Sebastian, and Fenris.” 

“Hard to talk about someone who stabbed you in the back, Princess.” Varric muttered quietly, sitting at her desk, resting Bianca on the gleaming surface. “He did what he did to force a confrontation. To force Hawke to pick a side. He killed a bunch of helpless old ladies and every faithful person who had the shit luck to be at the chantry that day, plus Maker knows how many mages and templars. He caused a war and...shit, I don’t know. Maybe he wasn’t really responsible, maybe it was the demon in his head. Hawke thinks the Anders we know is just a passenger in his own body now, but he knew the danger when he started his rooming arrangement with Justice. I can’t forgive him.” 

He looked up from the parts he’d been removing from the crossbow with the finesse of having done it a thousand times. Maria was still looking at him, silent and still in the tub. “He was my friend and I protected him for a long time. I couldn’t forgive myself if he got you killed.” 

“I’m safe here, in Skyhold. And when I’m out, I’ve got my friends at my back. I’m safe.” She assured, grinning and splashing some water his way. “Well, as safe as I can be. Do you think Bulls getting some good ‘saved the day’ sex from Dorian? I bet he is, too good of an opportunity to pass up.” 

“Maybe I should get some too. I’m the one who shot him, remember?” Varric teased. Maria’s grin was slow and wicked.

“You’re the one fondling your crossbow instead of joining your girlfriend in the bath.” She responded with a wink. 

Varric was not a foolish man, and his tunic was discarded hastily, the crossbow still half disassembled on the desk. She giggled as he approached, tipping her head up for a kiss that tasted of spiced ale and apples. “Maker, I love you.” Maria whispered as he pulled away to undo his trousers. 

“I usually go by Varric.” He quipped, dropping the trousers and slipping into the water, pulling her to his lap. “You can also call me your hero for the full romance effect.” 

She twined her glorious wet skin around his neck, water sloshing onto the floor as she kissed down his jaw, pausing at his ear. “My hero.” She purred, finishing it with a nip to the earlobe. 

He pulled her tighter to him, his arm circling her waist, her breasts pressing against his chest. His other hand traced a languorous path down her spine before cupping the globe of her ass and squeezing. 

The door opened at the bottom of her steps and slammed shut, quick footsteps coming up the steps. “Stop!” She ordered, pulling away. “I’m warning you, I’m naked and so is Varric. So unless the fortress is on fire, you’d better turn tail.” 

Whoever it was stopped, then began to sputter. “Inquisitor, Maker, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean, I… Maker’s breath.” 

“Goodbye Curly.” Varric called brightly as the steps quickly retreated. The door slammed and locked. Maria leaned closer, capturing his lips with hers.

“I’m all yours now.” She promised. 


	68. Meddling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leliana contemplates meddling. Maria always meddles. Fenris meddles for the first time.

It was a week after the Inquisitor’s departure, a week of brooding in dark corners and snapping at Hawke while avoiding Varania, before he met the arcane advisor. Mostly, this was because of Sabina. 

“Amita told me to tell you to stop growling and come to the garden.” Sabina said pertly from the doorway to their room. Lucia was at her heels, her canine head cocked to the side. “She said there’s a...a-post-tate.” 

Fenris could not help the small smile. “Apostate.” He corrected gently. 

“She said you should come see her. She’s Kieran’s mama.” Sabina continued blithely. 

“And who is Kieran?” Fenris asked, standing and putting aside the book he had not been reading. 

“A boy. His mama works here. He says they came from Orlais. The people wear masks there. Quad ridiculum vultus. Et quoque loqui ridiculum.” 

“Quidam dicunt se loqui varie.” Fenris answered immediately in his own mother tongue, the one Sabina slipped into so easily. She giggled. 

“No!” She exclaimed. “I do not. Et impar sunt. Kieran doesn’t wear a mask, but sometimes he says funny things.” 

“Oh?” Fenris asked. But Sabina had tired of his questions, tugging his hand impatiently. “Come, please. Amita said she’ll play if you come down.”  

He allowed himself to be guided out into the garden, the afternoon sun high above them. Hawke had her long dark hair loose, hands on her hips and talking to a woman a few inches taller than her. A woman with equally dark hair and… yellow eyes. 

He felt the sound and sun shrink away, thinking back to the night he’d awoken and told Chantal about the witch who had invaded his dreams. Hawke looked over her shoulder, gesturing them to come closer. 

“Should I introduce you to Morrigan?” Hawke asked dryly. 

“Introductions are unnecessary, it seems.” Morrigan answered, inclining her head. “I should have sought both of you out myself. I simply did not wish to...startle you.” 

There was a boy beside Morrigan, her hand resting lightly on his slight shoulder. He had dark hair as well, but normal brown eyes. Sabina ran away from his side, tugging on Reyna. “Amita, come play.” She pleaded. 

“I will, pup. Set up all your toy soldiers and I’ll be right over.” Hawke promised, affectionately ruffling the curls. Sabina’s green eyes flashed up to Morrigan fearlessly. 

“Can Kieran play too?” She asked with a wide, toothy grin. 

“He has lessons…” Morrigan started. Kieran looked up at her, smiling as well. 

“Mother, please?” He asked. 

Morrigan seemed torn, but then relented, dropping her hand from the boy’s shoulder and nodding. “Go help her set up her soldiers, then. We will skip today’s lesson since you have worked so hard.” 

Both children took off into the garden, leaving the three of them. “Chantal said the first thing she’d ever do if she saw you again was punch you in the face.” Hawke said, staring down at her nails idly. 

“I suppose I do deserve that, although how it is any of your business I fail to see.” The mage remarked, crossing her arms over her chest defensively. 

“What is your business with the Inquisition?” Fenris demanded.

“I appreciate living in a world that is not torn asunder. I appreciate that my son might have a future in a world not roiled in chaos. I suspect we all wish the same things.” Morrigan commented, staring pointedly at Hawke’s abdomen. 

“The Hero of Ferelden felt she would not return from the west where you sent her.” Fenris said grimly. 

At this, Morrigan’s expression softened into sadness, staring off after the children. “I called her sister, once. I would call her sister still. If she is to die, I would see her do so in the sun, but I would prefer she did not do so at all.” 

At this, Morrigan left them, vanishing into the darkened shadows of the garden, into one of the many small rooms lining it. 

“It is nice to hear her speak of Chantal so.” A small voice said from behind them, the spymaster herself appearing beside Hawke as if summoned. “The Warden was dear to us both.” 

“Weren’t there two Grey Wardens? Or did nobody like his majesty?” Hawke teased. Leliana smiled, but her gaze was far away, fixed on Sabina and Kieran. 

“There were two wardens.” Leliana said softly. “And perhaps they were both dear to Morrigan, although she would never admit it.” 

 

Fenris couldn’t stop thinking about it, regardless of Hawke’s entreaties not to. He continued to picture his father, his  _ fog warrior _ father. Fasta vass, he wished he had never asked Varania. 

He wished he could know even more.

There had been elves and humans among the warriors, all with his tanned skin. He should have known.

He would never have guessed. 

His father must have been an elf, one of those strong and free people who had taken in a refugee, spent precious resources on his recovery, accepted him as one of their own. 

He could still feel their blood on his hands. 

Hawke said he would drive himself mad if he continued, but he could not stop. The only thing he could do was stay in motion. The arrival of the former slaves, his unit now, apparently, had helped. What was not helping was the lack of suitable equipment in the barracks. 

“Venhedis!” He swore, sweeping everything off the table in a fit of temper and picking up a blunted dagger, tossing it into the wooden pole nearest to him with precious little finesse, but enough force to have it sticking several inches into the wood. 

“Should I come back when you’re done throwing knives?” The Inquisitor drawled from behind him. 

“It is about time you deign to arrive!” He spat in her direction, wrenching the knife free. “This equipment is shameful. Insulting.” 

“Right. What’s wrong with it?” Cadash sighed, sauntering over and picking up one of the blades. “Besides these needing a good sharpening.” She qualified. 

“This is made for humans. It fits awkwardly on elves.” He gestured to the armor littering the floor. “If you want your army to consist of elves, it would not be remiss to see they are properly outfitted, Cadash.” 

“What would you yell about if everything was to your liking?” She mumbled under her breath. 

“We were given the poorest of the weapons available.” Fenris glared down at her.

“Patently false. I deliberately ordered the worst weapons to be given to that group of dwarves from King Bhelen who followed me here from Halamshiral.” She placed her hands on her hips, returning his glare cooly.

“This is not a joking matter.” He protested.

“I am not joking. Do you think I’m  _ above _ ordering that the snobbish Dwarven pricks get the worst weapons?” She asked with a wry grin. “Because I certainly am not.”

Honestly, he could believe that she would do that. He was relatively certain that ninety percent of the scurrilous gossip regarding Varric and the Inquisitor came from that group of dwarves. Hawke had threatened to do something about it more than once. “This is still unacceptable.” 

“Fine, use them for practice and we’ll get something better.” She shrugged. “I’m assuming you know a good elven armorer.” 

“There is a smith in the Free Marches. He will not work with humans.” Fenris scowled. 

“I’ll send the contract through my sister.” Cadash offered easily. 

“Nor will he lower himself to working for the Carta.” Fenris remarked, feeling a small spark of humor at the utter exasperation on her face. 

“Oh for the love of Andraste’s lilly white ass. Can I purchase it through Briala in Orlais, or does this smith have something against Orlesians too?” She asked, rubbing her forehead.

“Everyone has something against Orlesians.” Fenris reasoned. “So yes, of course he does.” 

“How does he make any money?” Cadash demanded, eyes gleaming. “I’m all for pure idealism, but maybe this smith of yours is better suited to another occupation than running a business.” 

“He is the best.” Fenris shrugged. “Not everyone is as pragmatic as the Herald of Andraste.” 

“Maybe they should be.” Cadash muttered. “I’ll figure it out. 

“That is unnecessary. If you make the funds available, I will write myself. I have done business with him for many years prior to leaving Kirkwall. He will fulfill an order from me.” Fenris set the blade he was examining on the table. The Inquisitor had crossed her arms over her chest and was looking back up at him, trying her best to maintain her annoyed facade, but a spark of humor causing her lips to twitch. 

“How do you say asshole in Tevene?” She asked. “And don’t lie to me. I’ll double check.” 

“Podex perfectus es.” He advised. “It would translate to ‘you are an asshole of immeasurable degree.” 

“Perfect. Next time you need money, I can do without the theatrics. Cullen has forms he just fills out, you know.” She paused, tipping her head to the side. “How are you holding up?” 

“I am well.” He answered, then stopped, squinting at the dwarf suspiciously. “Why are you asking?” 

“Leliana said you and your sister got into an argument on the walls before we even left and that you’ve barely spoken since.” The Inquisitor’s grey eyes were steady on his face, a small smile lifting the corners of her lips. “I mean, I’m all for getting into shouting matches with your sister on the battlements. I’ve also done it in the courtyard, the tavern, Varric’s bedroom, and the stables if you’re looking for additional places to practice sibling bonding.” 

“Does your spymaster spy on everyone?” Fenris asked irritably, picking up a breastplate from the table.

“Including me, yes.” She answered honestly, reclining against the table. “Particularly me.” She added wryly. 

“I do not need you interfering in my personal life.” Fenris growled. 

“I am not interfering.” She protested innocently, too innocently. Fenris did not believe it for a moment. “Well, if that’s all…” 

“What have you done?” Fenris asked wearily. 

“I didn’t do anything.” And with that, Cadash grinned widely. Which assured him thoroughly she had indeed done something. 

 

That something, it turned out, was Sera. Or perhaps, Fenris thought, Cadash had simply not done anything when she saw something about to happen. Either way, Fenris was certain he was going to have words with the Inquisitor. 

It turned out nugs were very destructive when allowed in a space typically occupied by people. For some reason, Sera had unleashed two nugs into the room he shared with Hawke. This led to herbs everywhere, clothes in disarray, a pillow ripped open and feathers everywhere. It was, Fenris had to admit, the most effective destruction he’d ever seen. 

“It is not so bad.” Varania soothed. 

Hawke’s emotions had been...volatile. A kitten without its mother had been enough to drive her to tears. A man cutting in front of her was enough to have her sporting the best curses she’d learned in the slums of Kirkwall. Fenris had been unable to predict them and this prank could have had her swing either way. Judging by the trembling of her lower lip, it looked like tears were the most likely outcome. 

“Can I keep it?” Sabina pleaded, holding one of the nugs in her skinny arms. The other nug was trapped gently beneath Lucia’s giant paw. “Please, mama?” 

“Absolutely not.” Varania decreed impatiently as Hawke buried her face in her hands. 

“I will clean it.” Fenris stated in disgust, slinging his sword from his shoulders and into the corner. “Go to dinner, Reyna.”

“It will take you  _ forever. _ ” Hawke moaned. “And then you won’t eat. And if I can’t even get you to eat, how will I ever get a baby to eat?”

“Do not be ridiculous.” Varania tutted, pushing past Fenris into the room and grabbing the other nug from beneath Lucia’s paw. It squealed in distress as she eyed it critically. “The baby will eat, regardless of whether or not your husband does.” 

“Mama…” Sabina whined imploringly. 

“The answer is still no, Bina.” Varania interrupted. “Perhaps you should practice getting Sabina to eat. I will stay here and assist.” 

“That is unnecessary.” Fenris began. 

“No, I need to stay.” Hawke rubbed at her eyes to stem the tears. “It’s my mess.”    
“Mama, I’ll feed it!” 

“Out!” Varania demanded, twirling Sabina around quickly and shoving her out the door, lightly tossing the squeaking nug into the grass, then tugging Hawke along beside her. “And if you come back with that rat, Sabina, I will take away all your toys!” 

With that, Varania slammed the door shut and turned back to the mess, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring him down as if he was also a young child. “Would you also like to argue with me?” 

If it got him out of cleaning the disaster that had been his room, he could consider it. Instead he looked past her at the clothes strewn everywhere and sighed. “Very well, let us begin.” 

It was quiet work at first, he settled in one corner and Varania settled in the other. She was folding clothes swiftly and neatly, with a slave’s precision and attention to detail. So automated, she was probably unaware she was even doing so.

_ Clean, crisp white towels stacked neatly on a table. Varania, no older than ten, folding them quickly, pausing only to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. Distracted, by a glimpse of him at the corner of her eye, turning and smiling broadly at him. His name on her lips.  _

“I did not realize there was more than one of these.” Varania commented, her voice breaking the fragile silence. He looked up from his own stack of neatly folded tunics to the red ribbon dangling from her hand, a match for the one around his gauntlet. 

“There are several. Reyna wears them in her hair.” He answered. 

“This is not one she wears in her hair. It has frayed from your gauntlets.” Varania observed. “How many do you use for that purpose? Do you keep them somewhere separate from the ones for her hair?” She asked, all business, wrapping the ribbon into a tidy bundle. 

Caught in his omission, Fenris jerked his chin at an open drawer. Varania dropped it in there, next to the book of Shartan that Fenris kept there as well and that had been, thankfully, untouched by the nugs. 

“I have been curious about the ribbon.” Varania said simply, stacking another pile of books next to the drawer. An invitation, but not a question. 

“I stole it.” He admitted. “I… I left Reyna. Once. I took it with me and it was the only one I had for years. I tied it around my wrist to remind myself of…” Of the hurt on her face when he’d disappeared into the darkness, the trembling of her voice as she asked him to stay and work through it. The glorious feeling of Hawke’s lips, her body pressed against his and demanding more, more heat, more passion. The tender way she’d smoothed his hair from his face as he rose above her. “I hurt her. I wanted her to know that it wasn’t meaningless. I wanted… I am unsure. It was a promise. It still is a promise, that I will not leave her again.” 

“If the kitchen maids at the estate would have known you were so romantic, I would never have been able to keep them away from you.” Varania remarked dryly, shaking her head, a hint of amusement playing around her lips. “As it was, their simpering around you made me furious.” 

The kitchen maids he remembered had skirted him widely with fearful eyes. But, he had been Fenris then, Leto…

Leto, son of Chogan. 

“There was one…” Varania continued thoughtfully. “What was her name? Lea...Lila...no, Livia. That was it. She faked being robbed in the market to get your attention.” 

“You are making this up.” He accused, dumping an armload of herbs onto the desk.

“I am not.” Varania said serenely, shaking out one of Hawke’s skirts. “You were on guard and she ran back from the market with a bruise under her eye, shaking like a leaf and in hysterics. Saying a man had attempted to steal the food she’d been sent to purchase. She expected you to carry her back to the kitchen like a princess and fuss over her.” 

This story was...strangely familiar. A ring of something that may have been truth. “What did I actually do?” 

Varania laughed softly, shaking her head. “You took off to find the nonexistent thief, of course. Interrogated several merchants until someone said they’d seen her applying her bruise with coal dust.You stormed back and confronted her and demanded to know why she had lied. She didn’t need any rouge to color her cheeks then.” 

“She would have been punished.” Fenris said softly. Varania sniffed disdainfully.

“Perhaps she ought to have been, foolish chit. But you covered for her, said a merchant had seen the mugging. Nobody questioned you. Of course, then she was even more infatuated with you. I have never been annoyed more by any living person.” She snapped out another skirt, herbs falling off it before she folded it. 

Livia, dark hair. A vague impression of startled brown eyes. He could not remember her, not exactly, but he could remember having a memory of her. 

“I do not have many fond memories of our childhood.” Varania said slowly, carefully tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “But I do have some.” 

“Who is Nico?” He asked. He was not even sure why he asked, except that the name was never far from his mind when he saw Sabina. And his vague suspicion was confirmed by the jerky, clumsy movement of Varania’s deft hands when he said it, the skirt twisting into a pile instead of sinking into a neat fold. She glared at it and snapped the cloth again, slowly and neatly folding it. 

“He is Sabina’s father. I am...surprised you know his name. You did not know him well. You barely knew him at all.” Varania looked up, green eyes flashing with emotions too powerful to hide. Pain, sadness, guilt. 

Nico had brown eyes. Fenris could not remember them, but he could remember that. They’d often swirled with the same emotions. “You were involved with him, even then? You were young.” 

“I was not involved with him then.” She snapped. Then she took a deep, steadying breath. “I was not… I felt the same way about him all the maids felt about you. I was infatuated as young girls often are. I do not even believe he saw me as a woman, then. I did not meet him again after they took you, not until Qarinus. By then… I was sixteen when I was freed. I was twenty-two when I arrived in Qarinus and found Nico again, quite by accident. I gave birth to Sabina when I was twenty-four. I spent a little over a year with Nico as a lover.” 

A year. What would he have done if he had only a year with Hawke? A year was so little. “You are certain he is gone.” 

“I am.” She answered softly. “He was dying of the illness that took Mother. A cough that starts to shred your lungs. There is no cure, it is always fatal. He believed that Magister would kill him rather than let his death go to waste, more power to fuel his blood magic rituals. Damn the costs. Ut non moveatur. Ut lupi laceres.” 

Fenris knew where those curses would lead, to someone sitting in front of a fire and staring into it, calculating past wrongs and struggling under the weight of guilt. “I fled.” She admitted. “He begged me to flee before anyone found out I was with child, before people in Qarinus could make the connection between the babe and him. He was dying and I left him. I never got to say goodbye. I do not even know...he must have died. He could not have survived, but I fled without knowing.” 

“You had little choice.” Fenris murmurred. 

“I always had a choice!” Varania exclaimed forcefully, throwing down the handful of feathers she had picked up. 

“A choice between survival, slavery, or the noose.” Fenris could see how all three paths kept tangling up in Varania’s mind. “Not a real choice. I did not buy you real freedom.” 

“Nico told me to run to the Free Marches.” She whispered. This made him look up from his own fistful of feathers, fastening on her face. “We’d heard of you. That you’d settled in Kirkwall, that you’d murdered Hadriana. I told him I’d seen you, mother had tried to speak to you, but you did not know us. He said I should try regardless, make you see. But I couldn’t...I couldn’t risk the journey, I was frightened of the templars and circles of the south. I did not want to be turned away from your door.” 

How different would it have been, if Varania had fled Qarinus for Kirkwall? Would she have appeared before the Qunari attacked, or after? Would his niece have taken her first steps in a dilapidated mansion? Would Fenris have kept his distance from Hawke, or fled back into her arms sooner? Would Danarius…

Danarius. 

“They knew you were in Qarinus. Danarius and Hadriana knew.” Fenris remarked sourly.

“I did not know that then. I did not know that until Danarius knew who Sabina’s father was. I thought I had slipped them, foolish perhaps.” Varania scowled. 

“They would never have allowed you to flee Tevinter. They were intent on using you to lure me out. Hadriana told me about you, I wrote letters…” 

For the first time, Varania’s face softened and she looked up, guileless and surprised. “Letters?” She asked. 

“There were many. Always in a different hand as if you were having others read and write them for you. I believed they were from you. I responded in kind.” Fenris admitted. “Foolish.” 

“I didn’t...I never saw any of them. Only the last one, the one Danarius said summoned me to Kirkwall. What was in them?” She asked. “Did you tell me about your life in Kirkwall? About Reyna?” 

He had. Not much, it had been an attempt to overcome what he thought were reasonable suspicions on her part. Now he knew it was Danarius fishing for information. He had told her that Hawke was Champion, that he worked as a mercenary mostly. He had mentioned Varric and the Hanged Man and Donnic and their card games. “Yes.” He admitted. 

There was something wistful in her face. An unfulfilled longing that hit him like a bunch in the gut. She had wanted to receive a letter from him, had wanted to learn of his life in Kirkwall. 

Things would have been different, if not for Danarius and Corix and the whole rotten system of Tevinter. There had been a young woman, alone, resting her hand on her growing abdomen in Minrathous much the same way Hawke did now. 

“How old am I?” He asked. “When was I born?” 

“You’ll be thirty-two in the summer. The fourth day of Justinian. I will be twenty-eight on the 11th day of Harvestmere.” 

He had a birthday. A sister. A father and mother and history of his own. He had to live with it, the same way Varania bore the memory of Nico. 

 

“Good morning!” Cadash chirped brightly as he entered the Great Hall the next morning with Hawke on his right. She was carrying a mug of the bitter brew Varric enjoyed in the morning and was smiling brightly. “Nugs, right? I hate them, such creepy feet. Did you get it all sorted?” 

“We did. Well, Fenris and Varania did. I’m utterly useless.” Hawke sighed. “Unless you need to learn how to navigate around a Qunari dreadnought. That’s how big I feel.”

“Did you know they explode instead of sinking? Recent discovery on my part. Probably makes the analogy more apt for you.” Cadash winked roguishly and sauntered past. Fenris shook his head as they took their spots next to Varric, reaching out to steady Hawke as she lowered herself into the chair.

“She is meddlesome.” Fenris commented, jerking his head at Varric then after the Inquisitor. 

“You used to say the same thing about me.” Hawke pointed out reasonably. “And look, I’m your favorite person now.” 

“Or at least the one he tolerates most frequently.” Varric offered with a grin. “But I think our Inquisitor is growing on him. He pulled her into the armory to throw one of his tantrums.” 

“Alas! Do I need to be jealous?” Hawke asked, feigning a distressed swoon. “Abandoned by my child’s father! Who will tell my story?” 

“The Champion of Kirkwall had indeed been unlucky both in life and love…” Varric started, settling a plate of steaming hotcakes in front of Hawke. 

“If you’re both finished.” Fenris grumbled. 

“Oh! Oh!” Hawke interrupted cheerfully. “We find solace in each other if they’re cheating on us, right?” 

“Doubtful, the faithful and trusty dwarf would return to his one true love.” Varric patted the crossbow with a wink. 

“I hate it. I would not read it.” Fenris threatened. 

“Everyone's a critic.” Varric sighed in defeat. 

At the far end of the great table, Varric saw Dorian rise and slip away up the steps to the rotunda. Fenris stood quickly from the table, drawing both Hawke and Varric’s eyes. 

“Excuse me, I will return.” He said stiffly, hurrying to the rotunda door himself. 

“Is he finally going to murder Dorian?” Varric asked behind him. “Should we, I don’t know, stop him?”

“I’m creating a life, I don’t have the energy to stop my husband from viscerally murdering his enemies anymore. You do it, your girlfriend will be the one upset if he makes a mess.” Hawke answered, a hint of laughter hanging on her words. 

The altus was humming under his breath as Fenris approached. “Dorian.” Fenris called.

The only hint of shock was a slight tightening in the man’s muscles as he turned quickly, eyes narrowed. “Andraste’s asscheeks, what have I done to get the grace of a visit? If you’re about to kill me, I’ll have you know that some of these tomes are antiques. It would be bad taste to get blood all over them.”

“If I was here to kill you, I would have done so already.” Fenris said, leaning against a bookshelf. “You stated if I ever wanted assistance, you would provide it.” 

“You told me to shove it up my ass, if I recall.” Dorian raised a sculpted eyebrow.

“It is not for me.” Fenris snapped. “There was a man, a slave, in Magister Corix’s household. He is most likely dead and has been for several years, but there is… uncertainty. Knowledge would be better than an unanswered question. Even if it was found out that he was murdered, it would put his shade to rest.” 

Dorian slowly put the book back on the shelf, eyes fixed on his own hands as he did so. “The girl’s father.” Dorian said softly. “Your niece’s father.” 

“Yes. His name was Nico.” Fenris answered. And this time, there was a full picture. A man in a garden smiling fondly at something in the distance, his face heavy with an unspoken sadness even in that small moment of joy. “Sabina was born nearly five years ago. Varania was five months with child the last time she saw him.” 

“I will ask some old friends what I can find. There is a chance, you understand, that they will find nothing at all.” Dorian cautioned, tugging his hand through his artfully arranged hair. “And your sister will not thank you for asking me to investigate. She avoids me like a bad scent.” 

“She has her reasons.” Fenris answered darkly, turning away from the alcove. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Quad ridiculum vultus. Et quoque loqui ridiculum: They look funny. They speak funny too.
> 
> *Quidam dicunt se loqui varie: Some would say you speak oddly.
> 
> *Et impar sunt: They are odd.
> 
> *Ut non moveatur. Ut lupi laceres: May he rot. May the wolves tear him to pieces.


	69. Man on the Run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varania and Blackwall have moments at Skyhold. Varania ponders how all things must end.

Varania tipped her face upwards toward the sun, letting the warmth bask her skin while she closed her eyes. Summer would arrive at Skyhold soon, the sun promised longer days and warmer evenings. Both Fenris and Reyna cautioned her that it would still be nothing like the summers of Tevinter, but Varania found she didn’t care. She was greedy for any kind of warmth. 

“Damn this to the void.” Reyna muttered beside her darkly. Varania opened one eye and looked down at the tangled mess of yarn spilling over the woman’s lap. The… odd elf with the bow and dirty songs had been attempting to teach Reyna to knit, or as Sera had called it, stabby sewing. It was not going well judging by the cursing and the needle jabbed into the mess like a sword through an enemy. 

From the corner of her eye, Varania saw Sabina peel off from the gaggle of children in front of them. She opened both eyes and smiled at her daughter as the girl approached, looking askance at the bundle of yarn on Reyna’s lap. “What’s that?” Sabina asked as Varania rested one hand on her soft curls. 

“It’s a blanket. Or it will be.” Reyna muttered, glaring at the bundle resting near her growing stomach. Sabina simply wrinkled her nose. 

“Maybe you should let mama make it.” Sabina advised sagely. Reyna shot a purely disgruntled look in Sabina’s direction, but her daughter was already looking up at her. “Mama, can I have a drink please?” 

“Yes dulce meum.” Varania said simply, standing from her perch on a pile of stone meant to rebuild the shattered walls of the keep and leading Sabina over to the well by the stables. The bucket was already in the well, and Varania reached to crank the lever and bring it back up. She paused when the handle moved too easily, wrinkling her brow and peering down into the well. 

“What’s wrong?” Reyna asked, ambling after them, her ruined knitting discarded. 

“The bucket is gone. We should find a new one.” Varania stated, looking around the bustling yard. 

“Don’t be ridiculous. The bucket’s still in there, I’ll pull it out with magic.” Reyna said easily, bending as far over the well as she was able. Varania raised an eyebrow in challenge. 

“You do not have your staff, it is upstairs. If anyone is going to fish the bucket out of the well with magic…” Varania started. Reyna huffed.

“I don’t need my staff to do magic either.” She argued, placing one hand on her hip. “I do magic without it all the time.” 

Reyna lit candles without her staff, and even then Varania had seen a small amount of unnecessary combustion. Mages who trained with staffs did not control their magic well without it, a fact Reyna knew, she was just being a stubborn fool. Varania opened her mouth to say this, but Reyna had already disregarded her, making a closed fist with her hand and jerking it up. 

The lost bucket shot out of the well like it had been fired from a trebuchet with an accompanying geiser of cold water that soaked both adult women and Sabina thoroughly as the bucket rolled a fair distance away in the dirt. Varania barely bit back her shriek at the shock of cold, but Sabina didn’t, jumping away like a doused cat. Reyna pushed her sopping hair back from her forehead with a roguish and apologetic grin. Varania could feel the water running in icy rivulets down her arms, over her fingers. “Well, I got the bucket back.” Reyna pointed out reasonably with that same infuriating grin. 

Varania wanted revenge and by the Maker, she would get it. She slammed her own hand down on the stone of the well, feeling the mana pull and tug at the water deep below them, spinning it into an elegant spout, and then spraying it directly at Reyna’s aggravating face. 

The astonishment on Reyna’s face was priceless as she stumbled back, unable to move as nimbly as she had when Varania had first seen her due to the growing child. Shrieking, Reyna popped a barrier into place around her, causing the gushing spout to bounce off and ricochet in  the general direction of the merchant’s stalls. Quickly, Varania launched it upwards instead, creating a fine shower of water falling over the area around the well. Reyna was laughing, clutching her side and bent nearly double. 

“Maker’s breath, what are you two doing?” A gruff, warm voice asked from the stables. Varania felt the heat rising to her cold, wet skin as Reyna began to laugh even harder. 

Varania had never gotten into trouble as a child, not with Leto and her mother watching every single movement as eagle-eyed as hawks themselves. But she felt properly chastened as she turned to face Warden Blackwall, soaked to her skin and cold despite the sun, shame tightening in her throat. How could she have lost control and retaliated in such a display? It was humiliating, childish. An impractical and dangerous display of magic. 

But the Warden was smiling too, grinning in fact from ear to ear in a way that made something warm within her belly. Before she could examine it further, she heard Sabina laughing as well, felt her cool fingers slipping into her own, tugging her hand. “Mama! Mama, respice!” 

Sabina was pointing into the air above them and Varania looked up, feeling her daughter’s childish delight in her own heart as the swirling, shimmering colors above them. A rainbow, each color dancing in the scattered water droplets, beautiful and awe-inspiring. All the other children were pointing, laughing, even as the colors began to fade. “Et iris! Et factum es?” Sabina asked, eyes shining. “Iterum id facit!” 

“Well, look at that.” Reyna drawled, wringing out her tunic. “A rainbow, and at the end of it, a grumpy elf.” 

“Rainbow?” Sabina repeated, puzzled. 

“Iris.” Varania said softly. “They’re the same, Bina.” 

“Make another one, please!” A boy asked, grinning widely, from Sabina’s playmates. 

“Please!” A girl with a chubby face and blue eyes begged.

The warden chuckled, eyes crinkling at the corners when he looked at her. “Well, now you have a demanding audience, my lady. I suggest giving them what they desire before they turn on you.” 

Shy, uncertain, she looked back over her shoulder and into the well. “Go on, entertain the little heathens.” Reyna ordered with a smirk. “But when somebody starts asking who caused the mud down here, I’m disavowing all knowledge of it.” 

She pulled the water back up from the well, scattering it into a mist high above them. The children clapped and jumped around, pointing at the colors, cheering. Beside her, Reyna’s face softened into something wistful. “I never got to play with other kids, you know. Just Bethany and Carver, and I was more their boss than playmate. Although Bethany and I did like to make little boats out of ice and send them down streams. Carver would try to beat them to the lake.” 

“I never played with my magic.” Varania whispered, watching Sabina raising her hands up to the falling mist, her hair frizzing unbearably, face streaked with dust and smiling. “I hardly ever played.” She admitted honestly. 

“She will.” Reyna stated with a fierce determination, one hand creeping over her growing stomach as she watched Sabina. “They both will.” 

“Again!” Sabina demanded as the rainbow faded. 

Varania had not realized her fingers were shaking with the cold until she sent another spray of water high into the air and brought her knuckles back down to her lips to stifle the laughter as the children ran, the mist spraying them as well. 

“You must be cold, my lady.” Warden Blackwall observed, shrugging off his padded coat and handing it to her. “Here, I’ll see if I can’t find you a towel.” 

“Oh, no, I can’t.” She muttered as he thrust the quilted coat towards her. He waited, patiently, amusement flickering on his face, the coat dangling from his fingers. 

Reyna laughed and that was enough to make Varania take the coat, nodding numbly in thanks as she tossed it over her shoulders. It was far too large for her, falling nearly past her knees, and it was warm, soft from repeated use, smelling like the fresh hay in the stables and a tang of something else she couldn’t recognize. The Warden turned on his heel and strolled off, improbably whistling. 

“He didn’t offer me anything.” Reyna said petulantly. Varania narrowed her eyes in her direction, straightening her shoulders and trying to look unimpressed as possible. 

“You started it.” Varania pointed out. 

“I’m pregnant!” Reyna, as if she needed to illustrate, pointed to her swollen abdomen. “I’m nearly six months pregnant!” 

“Perhaps he thought his coat would not fit.” She sniped frostily. Reyna’s mouth shut with an audible click and she glared. 

“I think it’s because he fancies you.” Reyna trilled, turning on her heel. “I’m telling Fenris.” 

“There is nothing to tell beyond the fact that you are childish and infuriating. I am sure your husband must be aware of that by now.” Varania reasoned. 

“Whatever you say.” Reyna grinned over her shoulder. “My lady.” 

Varania could not help her blush. 

 

Several days later, she had wandered with Rose away from the tower, lured once more by the fresh air and sunshine. They ended up leaning on the fence of the sparring yard, watching several of Fenris’s men practice while Fenris himself looked on critically. 

The one man caught sight of her from the corner of his eye as he dodged an upswing. Varania could not see his face, but she realized he had recognized her by the surprised shout. Unfortunately, the man’s divided attention led to  his sparring partner catching him with the blunted edge of her practice blade, sending him sprawling onto his back. Rose winced beside her, drawing away from the violence. 

“Fasta vass, what is the matter with you?” Fenris demanded, drawing away from the edge of the ring and storming to the man on the ground. But the man...no, boy, she could see his youth now as he pulled his helmet from his head, was already getting up with a broad grin. 

“Alba striga!” He called out, waving excitedly to her. “Salve!”

“Do you know him?” Rose asked, wide blue eyes swinging between the two. 

She did, but it still took her a moment. The boy with the bone poking from his arm after the battle of the silent plains. She felt her lips twitch upwards. “Salve.” She greeted as the lad approached. “Your arm is well?”

“Opera tea.” The boy grinned. “You are well?” He asked. 

“She is better than you are.” Fenris grumbled. “Particularly if you are so easily distracted during battle.” 

“Do not allow him to be so hard on you.” Varania teased slyly. 

“I am sorry, for what I... “ The lad swallowed nervously, darting a sidelong glance at Fenris. Varania shook her head. 

“Hush.” She ordered. “It is alright. And now I am the white witch?” She asked, tipping her head to the side. 

“The white witch of the plains.” The woman chimed in, also young, with a nasty scar running down her face. “I remember how you fought, why do you never come and practice with us?” 

“She is busy.” Fenris answered, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back against the fence surrounding the sparring ring like a wolf at rest. 

“You do not appear to be busy now.” The cheeky lad grinned again, handing her his practice blade. “Fight with us!” 

“Oh! You can’t!” Rose cried, covering her mouth. “What if you get hurt? Maker, I can’t help you!” 

There was a part of her that wanted to hand the blade back, demurely, and claim that women could not fight. An instinct born out of years pretending she could not fight. 

“If you wish to.” Fenris said quietly. “But you do not need to.” 

“Alright.” She said simply, slipping under the wooden slats and into the ring. The two youths shared a brilliant grin as Varania stood. “Me first.” The girl said, watching as the lad slipped away. She rubbed her forehead, getting rid of the sweat glistening on her brow.

Varania tested the weight and balance of the blade in her hand. Heavy, but not as heavy as a true blade. Heavier, still, than the hilt of her sword. She had not held a real weapon in her hands in years and she felt momentarily nervous, as if she could hear the roar of the munera in the distance. 

Still, when she looked down, her hand wrapped around the hilt of the blade, it looked right. She brought the weapon up to her chest and nodded. 

The younger woman struck fast, as youth were prone to do, and Varania felt the blocked strike the whole way down her arm. Using the momentum of the strike, Varania pivoted. Rather than falling forward, the other woman recovered, just barely, lunging back on her heels and circling around, before lunging forward again. That time, Varania was more prepared. Using the force of the blow, she spun, sinking her elbow deep into the woman’s unprotected side, then bringing the blade flat down on her back, causing her to sprawl forward. 

Rose’s eyes were as big as dinner plates when Varania looked up and Fenris was trying, very hard, not to smile too broadly. She could see the strain around his twitching lips. Bending over, Varania offered the girl her hand. 

“You are quick as a snake.” The girl admired, grudgingly. 

“You simply need more practice.” Varania soothed as she pulled her up. 

“She’ll need a lot of practice if she means to best you, milady.” Warden Blackwall’s voice was like warm whiskey, and she turned, raising an eyebrow. 

“Warden!” She exclaimed. “Do you wish to challenge me next?” 

“I would not dare, my lady. I know when I’ve met my match.” He teased gently, Varania tapped down the surge of pleasure at his compliment. 

“Warden Blackwall has volunteered to assist with shield training.” Fenris offered. “I have little experience with shields, myself.” 

“With your sister at your back, I hardly think you need it.” Blackwall’s eyes were glimmering now, deep depths a woman could get lost in.

If a woman was of a mind to lose herself, and Varania most certainly was not.

“I do need to get back and collect Sabina from her lessons.” Varania began apologetically, handing the blade back to the boy. “Perhaps another time.” 

This time, Rose managed to hold her tongue until they made it to the top of the battlements, before giving her a sidelong gaze loaded with hidden meaning. “There is more than one way to stay warm up here in the mountains, you know.” 

“When you are older, you will realize it is not always so easy.” Varania advised. Rose simply sighed. 

 

It should not have made her sad the first day she asked Sabina to go to the stables with her for lunch and the child refused. Sabina was surrounded by children her own age, in the midst of some game involving a wisp their instructor had summoned. The elderly enchanter stated Sabina was more than welcome to eat lunch with them instead and Sabina had pleaded to be allowed to do so. 

Varania had acquiesced and tried not to let the bitterness of it sting in her mouth. Sabina deserved to have her friends, to laugh and play. It was what Varania had wanted, had always wanted. Sabina was happy, free, and healthy. Her daughter was growing older. She did not need Varania the way she had when she was young and inseparable. 

It was only a change. It should not sting. 

“You can eat with us.” Reyna offered, brow wrinkled, a beaker of lyrium in one hand and heavy tongs in the other. “Fenris and Varric certainly wouldn’t mind.” 

She was certain they would not, but Varania simply lifted the basket in her hand. “I am sure I still owe Warden Blackwall several lunches in return for her toys.” 

“I’m sure that’s the only reason you keep taking that man lunch.” Reyna trilled in a sing-song voice as she turned back to her table. “Go then.” 

Varania ignored her pointedly as she lifted the hood of her cloak and headed out into the dreary afternoon. She tried not to be grateful that it matched her mood perfectly.

It had stopped raining, but the mist shrouding the battlements and banners hanging sodden and limp spoke to persistent damp. Varania could feel the chill in her bones as she walked down the ramparts, taking the steep stairs into the stable yard. She did not push her hood back until she entered the relative dry of the stables.

Warden Blackwall had not heard her approach. He was staring into the firepit as she slid into place beside him. “I heard there were once mages who could read the future in the flames.” She said softly. The man started, one hand reaching for a blade that wasn't there. “You were lost in your thoughts. I shouldn't have intruded on you.” She apologized, taking a step back. 

“No!” He exclaimed, his arm reaching out for her this time, fingers of his glove just barely stroking her sleeve before he seemed to remember himself and pulled back as well. “I didn't… Maker's balls, I can usually hear Sabina coming a mile away. Is she playing a game with me?” He asked, looking around curiously. 

“She is playing a game, but not with us. She chose to stay with the other children. I am afraid we are less entertaining. I brought lunch regardless, but if you are busy…” Varania trailed off, thinking unhappily of stomping back up to the great hall and joining Reyna. She would rather, honestly, skip lunch altogether than to deal with her prodding. 

“Oh. Well, then. I say we have something hot for lunch then. We can go to the tavern and have a drink as well, I could use the company.” He offered, gallantly taking the basket from her and placing it on the table next to the carved toys. Sabina had more of them than any other child in Skyhold, Varania was certain, but every child had at least one. Sometimes she caught sight of them, abandoned temporarily for another game. She’d even seen the Inquisitor pick up a carved nug from the floor and set it on a nearby table so it wouldn’t get broken. 

“I have not been to the tavern.” Varania admitted. Reyna and Fenris went on occasion, but Varania always had Sabina and the tavern did not seem appropriate. She had cut through the upper floor from time to time, although she always felt as if she was being watched when she did so. 

“I’ve noticed.” He said dryly. “Sera drags me there too often to count. Seeing you there would be a welcome change. The food is good, and the ale isn’t horrid. They even have wine, if you prefer it.” 

He offered his arm to her, a simple gesture, but one he’d never made before in front of Sabina. Varania hesitated only a moment before she looped her arm around his elbow, letting her fingertips rest lightly on the worn fabric. She could feel his heat radiating from beneath the thick cotton. 

He matched his strides to hers, but they still nearly dashed back to the tavern against the misty cold. The cozy warmness of the tavern was a welcome relief. It was full, but Blackwall expertly maneuvered them around to two empty seats as the bar. Before either could sit fully, a mug of ale appeared in front of Blackwall and a dwarf stared up at Varania. 

“What do you drink?” He asked tersely. “Got that fancy red your brother’s fond of, the blasted swill the prissy mage drinks, and I serve the other Vint whatever the Qunari’s drinking.” 

“I would advise against drinking whatever it is that Dorian drowns himself in.” Blackwall advised. “But it is your liver.” 

“Something warm?” Varania asked. “Mulled cider, wine, anything like that.” 

“Mulled ale, it’s the Inquisitor’s favorite.” The dwarf nodded in satisfaction. “Food too? Got fish pie and pottage.” 

Her nose wrinkled at the thought of fish pie, but she wasn’t entirely certain what pottage was and felt foolish asking. “No fish, please.” She indicated. 

“Pottage is fine, Corbin. Thanks.” Blackwall rumbled, taking a deep drink of his own ale. He sighed when he put the tankard back down. Varania had a question, perhaps one she could ask of him. 

“You know the altus well? Dorian?” She asked. 

“As well as any can, besides the Inquisitor. The two of them saw some… terrible things at Redcliffe. Things the rest of us couldn’t begin to imagine. Or perhaps things we couldn’t imagine until the Emprise.” Blackwall picked up his mug again and stared into it. “He is arrogant and spoiled. And he abandoned his entire life of privilege to join an upstart religious movement led by a dwarf. I admit I don’t entirely know what to make of him.”

“It could be a ploy.” Varania said darkly as the dwarf beyond the counter put a steaming cup of spiced ale in front of her. It smelled delightful and she wrapped her hands around the clay mug, feeling the warmth seep through her fingers. 

“I doubt it. He’s devoted to the Inquisitor, we all are. But, the less I talk about him the better.” He scowled. “He’s infuriating.” 

“How did you join the Inquisition? It is a strange path for a Warden. Particularly since so many of your order have been banished on her decree.” Varania sipped at the warm beverage, inhaling the rich, complex fragrance. 

“Inquisitor Cadash, though everyone was just calling her Herald then, found me in the Hinterlands and I saved her from being shot by an arrow.” He admitted with a faint smile. “Although, knowing her better now, I wouldn’t be surprised if she’d seen the arrow coming and just didn’t move to prove a point. She was looking for a Warden, and I was… well, looking for someone to follow I guess. It certainly seems that way.” 

“The Wardens are heroes, even in Tevinter. Not many things are true both there and here, but that is one of them.” Varania reached up, playing with the piece of dawnstone on the leather cord around her neck. “I thought about becoming a Warden, once. A recruiter came to saw some of the fighters in the munera. She did not look at me.” 

“The Wardens loss.” Blackwall said gravely. “She didn’t know what she was missing.” 

“I was not so skilled then. In truth, I am uncertain how skilled I am now.” Varania let herself meet Blackwall’s eyes. He was gazing at her attentively, a small sad smile playing around his lips. “But if I would have joined the Wardens, I would not have Sabina.” 

“It turned out well for you, then. That girl means the world to you, a man would be blind not to see it.” Blackwall said, then stopped, rushing as he considered his words. “Not that it’s a bad thing, mind you. Seen lots of children throughout the years whose mothers weren’t there. It’s… something worth fighting for. Seeing all those people in the Emprise du Lion, remembering that you...that there were people back here. People to save.” 

She nearly blushed, and the only way she could stop it was to push onwards. “Is that why you became a warden?” She asked. 

“A warden is a promise to protect others, even at the cost of your own life. So, I suppose it was. I have a duty, a purpose.” Suddenly, he looked very morose. His eyes slipped from hers to study the ale in front of him. “I have to be a better man. My life does not belong to me anymore.” 

“I did not mean to make you upset. You are already a good man.” No man with eyes like that could be a monster. Varania knew monsters. “I know what it is like to live for something beyond yourself. I must always think of Sabina before I think for myself. She is my… will, my purpose, when I have not been able to find it.” 

“I douby, my lady, that you could ever make me upset.” Blackwall said as the dwarf placed two steaming bowls of stew in front of them. Varania relaxed, obviously visibly, because Blackwall sent her an odd look.

“I did not know what pottage was.” She admitted. “It is simply stew, yes? That is fine.” 

“And you didn’t think to ask?” Blackwall asked, surprised. “What if it were something you hated?” 

“Well, I was reasonably certain that it was not fish.” Varania said disdainfully. “And thus, I would eat it.” 

Blackwall laughed, shaking his head in amusement, eyes glowing as they rested on her. 

 

After they ate, he offered to escort her back to the mage’s tower. She was feeling pleasantly warm from the stew and ale, perhaps even a bit tipsy which was certainly novel. She hadn’t been inebriated in years, not since before Sabina was born. He’d even made her laugh with a story of Sera destroying the Iron Bull’s dragon sculpture in the Emprise, which then turned in a fierce escalation that ended with the Inquisitor making both of them dig trenches. 

“Nico told me once that it was rumored the Qunari drank dragon’s blood.” The words were out of her mouth before she had even thought them through, but she was so shocked by them she staggered to a stop. How could she have so casually dropped Nico’s name? She was appalled by her behavior, and it must have shown on her face. 

“Sabina’s father.” Blackwall guessed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to stir a bad memory.” 

“It is not a bad one.” Varania defended quickly, tugging her hand free from his elbow. “He was a good man.” A fine man, a smart man, a man who never held his daughter. She was infuriated by the prickling sensation behind her eyes. She cursed, bringing her sleeve to her face. 

“Here.” It was a small square of blue cotton, plain and soft. “It’s clean, no matter what Dorian says.” 

“Thank you.” Varania whispered, dropping her eyes to the stone, studying his boots and hers as she brought the cloth to her eyes. It was unusually quiet, the mist still clinging to the rooftops, the courtyard below the battlements muffled. 

“My lady…” Blackwall began. “You are… a fine woman yourself. I can’t pretend I haven’t noticed it. Most of the men here have noticed it. I hope you find someone, someday, that can make you happy. Someone to love you, to be the man you deserve.” 

“Happiness is not for me.” Happiness was for others. Happiness was for Sabina, dancing beneath a rainbow. Love was Reyna and Fenris sitting side by side in silence while he felt the baby kicking within her. Varania had very little right to still be alive, had clawed her life together despite the odds, and should be grateful enough for that. Happiness? Love? A dream, a false hope. 

“Varania.” Her name in Blackwall’s mouth, perhaps the first time she had heard it. He had turned it into an aching, lovely thing. His gloved hand was over hers, his thumb running across her knuckles. “My lady, you deserve so much more than you’ve been given. I wish I was the man who could show you that.” 

He lifted her hand to his mouth. The hand that had scrubbed linens in a Magister’s house, deep in scalding water. It had conjured a blade from the air many times and fought with Sabina’s curls daily. Blood had once dripped down her long fingers into puddles on a closet floor. Yet he pressed his lips to the back of it, dry and warm and softer than she thought they would be. His eyes were burning, desperate, and unbearably sad in a way that made her want to cradle his face in her palm and stroke his cheek. He looked like a man who had spent his life denying himself anything soft or simple. A man on the run. He squeezed her hand before he dropped it, turning on his heel and striding away like he had demons on his heels. As if running from something very tempting toward something much worse. 

Something is wrong, a small voice whispered in her head. There was an urge to run after him and make him tell her what he was running from or perhaps what he was running towards. Her hand still clutched the blue cotton in her fist. She felt as if she had swallowed a hive of angry bees, insects crawling and ripping themselves apart in her body. 

And yet, strangely, she could not move. 

 

She barely spoke to her family and barely slept, her mind wracked with impossible and unbearable questions. Blackwall desired her, yes, that was clear. Varania was no stranger to desire, although she had not been able to indulge it (or even felt much of it) for years. What was more concerning and confusing was that there was something beyond desire in the way Blackwall had looked at her. Something beyond desire in the slipped admission that he had thought of her while fighting in the Emprise, had counted her among the good things worth protecting.

They had grown close, she could admit that. If Varania could be considered to have friends, he would be the only one besides Rose, ironically. If the man had simply desired her, Varania could have handled that. It was the admission, the statement that she deserved more. 

What was more? More was both beautiful and terrible. More was both laughter and sorrow. More was the inevitable end, as all things do, and the broken pieces that must be gathered when it did. And the end would come, she knew that in the pit of her stomach. More with a warden, with a respected hero… a true hero, not a false one as she was. It would only end in disaster. 

Varania was not a hero. She was not Reyna, compassion and cleverness twisted together into something bright and impossible that would always win the day. She was not the Inquisitor, a shining beacon of hope in the darkness drawing hundreds. Varania was only a broken blade, a desecrated chantry. 

It was not him that was the problem. And yet, he had looked so haunted, hunted. 

It came as no surprise that she could not work. She spent a futile hour in the mage’s tower before claiming a headache and needing fresh air. She’d had to wave Rose’s concerned hovering away as she slunk back to the stables with a sick sort of determination. What her plan was, she could not say, but she had to do something. 

She did not expect the Inquisitor to be there, her brow furrowed as she looked at a piece of paper. One hand was holding a badge and Varania’s heart sank at the familiarity of it. Blackwall’s Grey Warden insignia. Varania’s mouth went dry as she approached, clearing her throat to get the small dwarf’s attention. 

Maria Cadash’s gray eyes flashed up, bright and somewhat alarmed. “I don’t suppose you have any idea what’s going on here, do you?” She asked, the perplexity obvious in each line of her face. 

“I do not understand. I only came to speak to the Warden, he seemed troubled yesterday. I thought…” She didn’t know what she thought, and thankfully, the Inquisitor didn’t ask. 

“He left this note on the griffon. I got a letter from Warden Amell and it was...concerning. I came down here to see what he made of it, but all I found was this.” She said uneasily. “Inquisitor, you’ve been a friend and an inspiration. You’re a shining example of the difference between right and wrong. More importantly, you’ve given me the courage to uphold the former.” 

The Inquisitor paused, setting the note down as if it weighed a great more than it did. “I’m sorry for many things, including not keeping my promise to help you defeat Corypheus at any cost. I know now that you can do so without my help. I believe in you and it has been my honor to serve you.” She finished, reading what Varania could only was the last line. “He didn’t sign it, but I know his writing.” 

“Inquisitor!” A scout called from the steps, jumping the last two before he landed like a cat. “No sign of him anywhere, Nightingale confirms it. We did find this upstairs in his quarters, it was missing from last week’s reports. No idea why the Warden would want it.” 

The Inquisitor leaned against Blackwall’s table, scanning the crumbled sheet of paper. Her brow furrowed even further before she looked back up at Varania. “It’s a report about a criminal captured in Lydes, he’s scheduled for execution this week. He didn’t say anything about this to me.” 

“I do not know why you think he would have said anything to me.” Varania reasoned. 

“Well, I’ll call bullshit on that some other time.” The Inquisitor mumbled. “Lieutenant, see if you can’t get a riding party together from my people. Maybe Blackwall went to this execution? Val Royeaux isn’t more than two days hard ride and he can’t have much of a head start.” 

“Commander Rutherford volunteered to accompany you if there was a search, your worship. He says Warden Blackwall’s a fine man and he wouldn’t see you search alone.” The scout offered. 

“Of course, if he can spare the time. Varric will want to come too.” The Inquisitor sighed, rolling the paper up and shoving it in her pocket. 

Varania felt dread curling in her stomach, the same dread she had felt at the munera the day she knew she’d been caught assisting the warriors cheat. She knew she’d be lucky to keep her life and not end up on the gallows herself. She wiped her suddenly clammy palms against her skirt, a motion that was picked up immediately by the eagle eyed Inquisitor.

“I’ll get to the bottom of it.” She promised with a wry grin. “Drag him back and make him walk on coals for worrying all of us. I swear.” 

It felt like a hollow promise, the same one Leto had made when swearing revenge. Something is very wrong, her mind whispered as she watched the Inquisitor melt into the crowd. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *respice: look!
> 
> *Et iris! Et factum es?: A rainbow! You made it?
> 
> *Iterum id facit!: Do it again!
> 
> *alba striga: white witch
> 
> *salve: hello
> 
> *opera tea: Thanks to you.


	70. The Inquisitor's Shield

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The trip to Val Royeaux is worse than Varric expects.

Varric thought the message had been garbled when he got it. Hero, gone? There was no way the man would abandon a cause as tragic and righteous as Maria’s, even without the additional friendships Blackwall had created to tie him firmly to Skyhold. One thing was clear though, the Inquisitor was leaving, and Varric wasn’t letting her leave without him. The assassin's blade was still too fresh in his memory, and Maria’s bruises had only just faded from her pale skin.

He emerged from the Inquisitor’s room to find Hawke waiting, chewing on the side of one fingernail anxiously. “Varric, listen, I have a problem.” 

“Hawke, one could make a very convincing case that you are the problem.” He teased. “I’ve been summoned, so you’ll have to walk with me.” 

“That’s the problem. Varania said she’s going.” Hawke fell into place beside him, worrying at the dark braid over her shoulder now. “She was going to ask Fenris to watch Sabina. I’m a bit afraid it didn’t go well.” 

“How ‘not well’ did it go? Is everyone breathing?” Varric asked, rubbing his forehead. 

“Well, last I checked, yes. But as everyone is so fond of pointing out, I don’t move very quickly anymore.” Hawke pouted, staring down at her stomach with an expression mixed of affection and disgust. “I can’t wait to not have my little parasite hitching a free ride anymore.” 

“Where are they?” Varric asked with a long sigh. 

“Well, I believe Varania was planning to go to the stables. We can probably follow the shouting.” Hawke said easily. Varric eyed her from the corner of his eye, searching for the hidden aggravation and strangely, finding none.

“You’re feeling very calm about this.” Varric observed. Hawke simply smoothed her tunic over her stomach. 

“He’s angry because he’s frightened for her. She’s asking him to watch Sabina because she trusts him. Honestly, it’s further faster than I thought they’d come. And I…” Hawke paused, her face softening. “I’ve missed having a woman around when it was just Fenris and I all those years. She’s my sister, just as much as she’s his.” 

There it was. Bethany’s ghost had lingered over Hawke as long as he’d known her. That first year they’d met, a child with Bethany’s hair or the sight of the woman’s favorite flower could still bring Hawke to tears and cause Carver to flee. Varric wouldn’t have been surprised if the ragtag group Hawke had gathered around her had been meant to fill the holes in her heart left by her father and Bethany. Even the sight of her cousin had been enough to shake Hawke to the core nearly ten years later because the woman shared so much of her looks with the missing Hawke sibling. 

Bethany couldn’t come back, Hawke had admitted that she had accepted that once when they were wandering the docks alone, just the two of them on a job. And yet, Hawke had never stopped wishing for a sister, her sister back. Varania, he suspected, had precious little beyond her magic in common with Bethany. From both Carver and Hawke, he’d pieced together that Bethany was a ray of sunshine that never had a poor word for anyone. Varric had been on the wrong side of Varania’s temper once or twice already. 

But Varric had seen Hawke sprawled out beside Varania in the courtyard, fighting and fumbling with knitting needles while Varania smiled and shook her head. Eventually, Hawke would always dispose of them and lay in the grass on her back, arms behind her head, while Varania sewed an endless supply of small shirts and stacked them on Hawke’s growing stomach. 

She was not Bethany, but Hawke needed a sister, and Varania was the closest thing she had. 

“Well, I know she’s handy in a fight, Waffles. We’ll take care of her if she goes.” Varric assured her. 

“I knew I could count on you. I’m...worried. If I’d have known Blackwall was the type to do this sort of shit, I’d have hit him ages ago.” Hawke scowled. 

“Serious then?” Varric asked lightly. Hawke sighed, rubbing her own forehead now as they approached the stables.

“Maker only knows. There’s certainly something there.” Hawke sighed. “Whatever it is, it can’t have gone far.” 

“Una de stultis locuta es!” Fenris shouted from within the stables. Hawke grinned in brittle amusement. 

“Have I ever told you how nice it is to hear him yell at someone else in Tevene?” She drawled. 

Inside the stable, Maria was leaning against a stall with an amused expression on her face, watching the back and forth. Varania had a bag tossed over her shoulder, her red hair braided into a neat bun at the nape of her neck, and one hand on her hip as she tapped her foot impatiently. She’d changed out of the skirts she favored into a pair of breeches that may have once been Hawke’s, but had been hemmed and tailored to fit Varania instead. 

“Vos scitis esset stultum.” Varania seethed. “Do not think you can speak to me as if I am a child!” 

“You are acting like a child!” Fenris answered, exasperated. 

“Oh good.” Maria said quietly as Varric edged into place beside her. “I’ve no idea what’s going on, but somehow I think it involves me. Neither of them will deign to answer me.” 

“You keep saying you wish people would stop treating you like the Inquisitor.” Varric reminded her with a small smirk. “What’s the old adage? Be careful what you wish for?” 

“I would like to go with you, if you would have me.” Varania snapped her attention away from Fenris to Maria. 

“You have a child here, you cannot possibly believe it is responsible to abscond on foolish errands.” Fenris interupted, scowling darkly at Varania. 

“I am leaving her with you. Unless you are telling me you cannot be trusted?” Varania asked harshly, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Oh for the love of…” Maria rubbed her forehead. 

 

“I am telling you that the Inquisitor is more than capable of searching for this man without your assistance. There is no reason for you to risk yourself on a fool’s errand.” Fenris explained slowly, each word spat out in a way that was fully measured and controlled. 

“She can come if she wishes to.” Maria said simply, shrugging her elegant shoulders. “Dorian’s coming too and I won’t hear anything about it, though.” 

This caused Varania’s face to darken and Fenris’s to light up in triumph. Unfortunately, the triumph was a bit too soon claimed as Varania set her jaw tightly and nodded. “Very well.” 

“Kaffas.” Fenris growled. “Forsitan volumus non potest inveniri. If he had wanted you to follow him, I could only assume he would have informed you of where he was going.”

Beside him, Hawke sighed. “Maker, I’m going to have to do something.” She whispered softly to herself. 

Varania was glaring back at Fenris now, drawing herself up to her full height. She seemed to twist the words in her mouth before she spoke them. “Paenitit me, domine mi. I did not realize I must request permission to travel. Foolish, to believe I was free to come and go as I wished.”

Fenris flinched as if she’d struck him, and Varric supposed she probably had in the very worst way. Hawke was right, she was going to have to do something…

“Catch me.” Hawke ordered quietly. He looked up, confused, but was met by a woman looking a bit queasy, swaying unsteadily on her feet, one hand on her stomach. Slowly, she unbalanced herself and slid into him. 

“Hawke!” Varric called out, catching the act immediately as she sank into his arms. “Andraste’s tits, Hawke, are you alright?” 

The argument in front of them ceased like it had never existed as both elves turned, distress flicking across their features in near tandem. Before another word could be spoken, Hawke was being lifted from his arms and placed, gently, into a sitting position on a bale of hay as both Fenris and Varania leaned over her. Varania’s hand was already glowing blue, pushing to Hawke’s temple and Fenris had his fingers intertwined with hers as Hawke’s eyes fluttered weakly.

“Are you alright?” Fenris demanded. “Is it the baby?” 

“I do not sense anything wrong, have you eaten?” Varania questioned, pressing the back of her hand against Hawke’s forehead. Maria stiffled a giggle behind him. 

“I’m...no, I think I forgot to grab something this morning.” Hawke answered, fluttering her lashes even more until Varric could swear there was wetness within them. “It is just… I’m so worried, about both of you.” 

“It is alright.” Varania soothed, standing and searching the stable. Varric ran for a pitcher of water and handed it to her with a stricken look of his own.

“Hawke, you’re good, right?” He asked, all false worry and sincerity. Hawke almost broke character for a second before rubbing her eyes to hide the slip of humor.

“The baby keep kicking me. I don’t think she likes the arguing.” Hawke pouted petulantly, rubbing her stomach. Varania and Fenris shared equally guilty glances. 

“I still do not think you should go.” Fenris muttered, looking away from Varania and back down to Hawke. “But if you do, we will take care of Sabina. You need not even ask.”   

 

“I will return if the Warden is not in Val Royeaux.” Varania assured. “I will not be gone longer than five days, I promise. While I am gone you must make sure she eats regularly.” Varania ordered, dropping her bag to the ground and rummaging around inside it until she found a piece of flatbread, offering it to Hawke. Hawke made a great show of declining it until Fenris snatched it from Varania hand and pushed it into hers.

“I will.” Fenris promised. There was a heavy silence before the damned brooding elf spoke again.

“Remember to return in one piece.” He advised. 

“I will.” Varania promised, a slight uplift to her lips. 

Hawke sat between the two, cheerfully munching on the piece of bread, crisis averted. 

 

Dorian did not say anything when Varania chose to spread her bedroll as far from him as possible, on Maria’s left side, near the burning fire. Nor did he mention that she did not lay down to sleep until she was certain he had fallen asleep. 

“I’m honestly surprised she came with how wary she is of him.” Maria observed quietly as she splashed water from the stream on her face beside Varric. “Maybe this thing with Blackwall was more serious than I thought.” 

“I’m assuming you’ve figured it out.” Varric murmured, careful to avoid looking behind them to the camp in the distance. Cullen was barking orders at a scout that had accompanied them, and his voice and the stream were enough to block them out. 

Maria looked over at him, skin pink from the cool water, drops still beaded on her eyelashes as she frowned. “He reminds her of someone.” She said simply. “If I were to guess, it was probably a fucking Tevinter magister who couldn’t keep his damn hands to himself. I figured it out ages ago.” 

“But you still thought it was a good idea to play matchmaker?” He questioned, raising an eyebrow. Maria smiled softly, dropping her eyes and shaking her head. 

“She didn’t have that little girl by herself, you know. Some women never want to see another man again. Some want a different one each night. I’ve seen it both ways, I doubt either is wrong. I’m sure most people are somewhere in the middle. Blackwall’s entirely too chivalrous to force the issue. It was a glorious match that solved a lot of problems.” 

“Until Hero went missing on us?” Varric asked, gripping Maria’s hand and helping her scramble up the bank. 

“Well, none of my plans ever work out perfectly. You know this.” Maria chirped with a sly elbow in his ribs. “But I haven’t failed yet.” 

“Have you ever considered taking up another hobby besides managing other people’s business? Hawke’s trying to learn to knit.” Maria chuckled softly. “Maybe flower arranging? Painting?” 

“If I wasn’t so invested in nosing around everybody’s business, I would never have fallen for you, now would I?” She asked, eyes sparkling. Varric had to sigh and admit defeat. 

“What are the two of you plotting?” Dorian asked waspishly. The man was never more unhappy than after sleeping on the ground the night before. 

“World domination. Followed by beating Cullen at chess.” Maria quipped, affectionately patting Dorian’s shoulder as they passed. 

“Good luck at that.” Cullen smiled softly down at his papers. “It will never happen.” 

“You play very well?” Varania asked, looking up from her spread fingers over the fire. 

“They are upset that the three of them cheat shamelessly and I continue to win.” Cullen was hiding his laughter in his sleeve. Maria scowled. 

“You wouldn’t be so cocky Cullen if you’d concede to finally sit and play Wicked Grace with us.” Maria sniffed disdainfully. “But he’s too frightened, Varania.” 

“As he should be.” Dorian advised. “Never play Wicked Grace with those two card sharks. Particularly the Inquisitor.” 

“Is this the game you were teaching Sabina?” Varania asked with a mild tinge of disapproval. 

“You should be proud. She’s probably better at it than Cullen.” Varric teased, meeting the Commander’s exasperated expression.

“You win! I will join you for a game when we return to Skyhold. One hand of cards.” Cullen said, turning to the horses. He could not help the delighted grin he shared with Maria. 

 

So, of course, Val Royeaux was a mess. They arrived just in time to lose themselves in the jeering crowd. “Can you please stick close to me this time, Inquisitor.” Cullen begged, one hand on his sword hilt as he scanned the crowd. 

“They’re not paying attention to me, but they probably will if you keep calling me that.” Maria admonished as she elbowed through. Varania’s face was drawn and white, as if she could sense something foul in the air. Varric had to admit, he could feel something wrong too. 

“Nothing like a rousing bit of blood lust in the morning.” Dorian grumbled, searching the crowd as if he too could scent impending disaster.

Finally, Maria stopped at a point where no humans obstructed her view, eyes fixed to the gallows. “Maker, if I have to watch a hanging I’m going to be pissed.” She complained. 

“You kill people every day.” Varania said softly, the first words she had said since they’d entered Val Royeaux. 

“Yes, well, that’s a fight. This is… look at him. He looks broken.” Maria answered, gesturing to the man kneeling on the gallows. He looked off into the distant, over the jeering crowd. “I just don’t see the point.” Maria admitted. 

The Orlesian chevalier was listing charges. The murder of a nobleman, his wife, and their four children. Varania hissed softly at that, and he knew she was thinking of her daughter, save under the care of Fenris and Hawke. The accused made no defense, standing from his kneeling position to allow the noose to be draped gently over his head like a macabre necklace. 

Maria took a deep steadying breath and closed her eyes, unable and unwilling to look. 

“Stop!” 

Maria’s eyes flew open at the shouted directive, fastening to where it had come from. Varric followed her steely gaze, landing on Warden Blackwall making his way up the gallows. “Conscription?” Dorian muttered, eyebrows drawn together. 

“This man is a Grey Warden.” The chevalier stated, taking a step backwards. 

“This man is innocent of the charges laid before him.” Blackwall declared, pushing past the chevalier. “Orders were given and he followed them like any good soldier. He should not die for that mistake.” 

 

“Then find me the man who gave the order! There is no proof!” The Chevalier declared. 

Blackwall paused, a crucial moment of hesitation. Maria could smell the danger, he saw it in her cold eyes as she pushed forward. There was blood in the water, somehow, somewhere. Hero was about to step in it. 

“Blackwall!” She shouted. 

He hadn’t seen them until Maria called. His eyes latched onto her voice, the silent command implicit in it. Come down, it said, stop this. We’ll figure it out, but let me help you. Maria took one step forward, certain she would win. He loved that certainty, he thought, no matter how misplaced it was. 

Blackwall’s eyes leaped from Maria to Varania behind her and he stiffened, his eyes shutting for just a moment. When he opened them again, he was staring at Maria, his hands curled into fists at his sides. 

“No. I am not Warden Blackwall. I never was Blackwall. Warden Blackwall is dead and has been for years. I assumed his name to hide, like a coward, from who I really am.” The man in front of them admitted, the words torn from his mouth by the wind. They seemed to stagger Maria, who halted in shock. Varric reached out, curling one hand around her elbow to steady her. 

“You!” The prisoner exclaimed in wonder. “After all this time…”

“It’s over. I’m done hiding.” Blackwall was not looking at Maria now, wasn’t speaking to her. Varric did not have to look to see which pair of elven green eyes had captured his attention. “I gave the order. The crime is mine.”

There was a stillness in the crowd, a sudden quiet like before a storm before Warden Blackwall finally shed his identity. “I am Thom Rainier.” 

The crowd descended into chaos, Varric felt the push at his back as the Chevaliers gripped the man they had known as Blackwall, led him away. “Maria, we have to go.” He tugged insistently at her elbow. Above them, Varric saw Varania press her palms to her eyes. 

“Maker adiuvia nos.” Varania muttered. 

“Right.” Maria said, voice a bit more shaky than usual. “Right.” She brushed her gloved hands on her thighs and turned to Varania, gently tugging the woman from the crowd. Dorian raced ahead, quickly paying off a vagrant to vacate a carved marble bench. Varania lowered herself onto it, one hand pressing against her temple as Maria began to pace furiously. Five steps one way, five another. 

“Cullen, can you find out where they’ve taken him?” She asked. Cullen, his jaw tight, nodded and vanished into the crowd. Dorian had vanished again as well. 

“Princess…” Varric said softly. 

“Don’t.” She snapped. “Just, don’t. I need to think.” 

Giving up, Varric returned his attention to the pale elven woman. “I should not have allowed him to go. I should have made him stay and explain himself.” She said quietly, closing her eyes. 

“He’s not who we thought he was, but that doesn’t mean anything he said to you wasn’t true.” Varric reasoned. 

Her green eyes flashed open, and for the first time Varric saw everything in them. A world of pain and loss, quiet hope and deep sadness, strength and anger enough to fell a dragon and a bitter uncertainty that he doubted would ever entirely go away. Brittle edges, broken things. They were Fenris’s eyes, they always had been, but he saw the whole thing now as her fists tightened in her skirt. “I know that.” She said simply. What she didn’t say, what she didn’t have to say, was that sometimes knowing that was not enough. 

Dorian had returned with a jug of whiskey that he placed on the bench beside Varania. “You look like you need a drink.” He explained. “And our Inquisitor certainly will when she’s stopped her ruminating.” 

“No.” Varania eyed the bottle distrustfully, shying away from it. Dorian simply sighed. 

“I will drink from it myself to prove it isn’t poisoned, if you wish. I will warn you that whiskey goes straight to my head and you’ll be the one carrying me.” 

“I would leave you.” Varania pointed out, more numb that waspish, and Dorian frowned slightly, glaring over his shoulder at the gallows. 

“Well, then I would be left.” Dorian acquiesced. “Would it make you feel better to smash the whole bottle? I paid five gold for it.” 

“You were robbed then.” Varric scolded. “It’s cheap shit in a fancy bottle.” 

“Of course I was. Fasta vass, everywhere I go.” Dorian glared at the bottle. “Well, if you don’t smash it, I will then.” 

“Suddenly, I almost want a drink.” Varania whispered with a hint of a smile. Dorian threw his hands up in frustration. 

“Inquisitor.” Cullen called, materializing beside Maria like a ghost. “He’s in the city cells. We can get in to see him.” 

“Thank the fucking Maker for that.” Maria sighed, turning to the bench and grabbing the bottle herself, taking a deep gulp before pulling it away from her lips and making a bitter face. 

“Andraste’s tits, do I not pay any of you enough for the good stuff?” She asked, examining it before pressing it into Varania’s hand and turning on her heel. Varric didn’t miss the other woman taking a small sip before she stood and handed it back to the other mage.

“Perhaps it would be better smashed.” She said simply, following Maria away.

“That may be the most civil thing she’s ever said to me. Progress?” Dorian asked, leaving the bottle on the bench as they strode away. The vagrant he had paid off reappeared with a gleeful expression, snatching the bottle as they turned the corner. 

 

Maria went into the cells first and was gone for nearly forty-five minutes. Varric was about ready to begin pacing himself when she returned, her eyes rimmed in red. She paused in the shadows at the top of the stairs, gathered herself, before she took a step into the light. 

“Maker what a mess.” Was all she said as they stared at her. She shook her head, before turning to Varania. 

“Would you like to see him?” She asked gently.

“Has he asked for me?” Varania responded, straightening. 

“He told me to take you all and go and leave him to rot. That’s what  _ he _ wants, but his wants are not very high on my priority list right now.” Maria said bitterly, casting a glare over her own shoulder into the darkness. “If you want to go down there, it’s up to you. We’ll wait for you.” 

At the very least, Varania was not a coward. She stood from her perch and stepped forward, nodding to the inquisitor as she pushed down into the rotting darkness. Maria’s shoulders slumped as she passed. 

“I’ve got Leliana’s report on Thom Rainier.” Cullen said, holding out a sheaf of papers. “He was once a respected captain in the Orlesian cavalry. Well, that was until he was persuaded to assassinate one of the Empress’s generals.” 

“And his whole damn family.” Maria bit out. “Don’t forget that part.” 

“Inquisitor…” Cullen sighed as Maria tore the papers from his grasp, her eyes narrowed. 

“Leliana just had this laying around?” She asked suspiciously.

“Don’t blame her. There was nothing to connect Blackwall and Rainier. She feels horrid as it is, she says she’s failed you.” Cullen corrected gently. “For what it’s worth, we’re sorry. We know he means a great deal to you.” 

“I’ve failed Leliana plenty of times.” And with this the fight went out of Maria and she sat on the bench next to Varric, one hand resting gently on his thigh, seeking comfort. Varric placed his own palm over it. “She doesn’t need to feel horrid. Nobody should. Except maybe me.” 

“You couldn’t have known.” Varric squeezed her hand under his. “Nobody could have.” 

“I know.” She sighed, closed her grey eyes, took a deep breath. “Do you remember the day we met him? Blackwall or Rainier or whoever the fuck he is?” 

He did. It had been an unseasonably warm day in the Hinterlands, Maria’s hair had been stuck to the back of her neck. They’d spent nearly all day climbing up to the damned lake in search of the Warden, detouring only to close two nearby rifts. Cassandra had needed to heft Maria up  the last cliff. They hadn’t even had time to stop and rest before Solas had sighted Blackwall’s group at a nearby cabin. 

“With those village kids and the bandits. He put his shield up right in front of you when you didn’t dodge the arrow.” Varric recalled. 

“I didn’t see the arrow coming.” Maria admitted, leaning forward and putting her head in her hands, resting her elbows on her thighs. “I know you all thought I just didn’t dodge it, but I had no clue.” 

Maria, his masterful storyteller in her own right. Varric sighed, slumping beside her. “Nice cover, though. We were convinced you’d faked letting him save you.” 

“It was a good story.” Maria agreed. “I was exhausted. My hand hurt. I didn’t know what in the void was going on or why I was suddenly leading a bunch of crazy fools around the Hinterlands. If he wouldn’t have put that shield up, I’d have been dead with an arrow in my brain. Thus ends the story of the Herald of Andraste, mighty Inquisitor Cadash.” 

“How many close calls were there actually in the beginning, Maria?” Varric asked. He was not reassured by her brittle smile. 

“Some.” She admitted. “The most famous of which is Haven. It isn’t my fault you people always thought I knew what I was doing.”

Dorian laughed, a sound half-hearted as he shook his head. “The fate of the world decided by one shield and one arrow. Varric couldn’t even make it up.” 

“Nobody else has to feel horrid because I’m making the choice, Cullen. Do what you have to, get him out, get him to Skyhold.” Maria said softly, closing her eyes and leaning back against the cold stone wall. “Maker have mercy on my soul.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Una de stultis locuta es: You are a foolish woman!  
> *Vos scitis esset stultum: You would know foolish  
> *Forsitan volumus non potest inveniri: Perhaps he does not want to be found.   
> *Paenitit me, domine mi: I am sorry, my lord.   
> *adiuvia nos: help us


	71. Heartache

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris examines heartache.

Fenris stared at the report he’d been handed by Josephine, aghast. He felt his fist crumble around the note and he leaned over the war table, palms flat on on the wood. He could already feel a spike of pain driving through his temple, a headache he’d be fighting the rest of the day. 

“The Inquisitor stated to do whatever is needed to have him freed. It would be simple enough to place another condemned man in his place. Or we can reach out to her Carta contacts to have him removed.” Leliana drummed her fingers thoughtfully on the table. 

“Empress Celene owes her a great favor. It will not be an easy matter to get Bl...Rainier released into our custody, but it can be done.” Josephine grimaced in distaste at her board. 

“I am no neutral party, but has anyone considered simply leaving him?” Fenris asked the room. 

“I have. I have never felt so foolish in my life! I cannot believe I missed that he was hiding this from us all this time!” The redhead exclaimed, glaring coldly at the map. “But she will never consent to see him executed. She doesn’t have the stomach for killing someone in cold blood.” 

“Some may see that as an excellent quality in the Inquisitor.” Josephine reprimanded with a frown. “We know what happened the last time we asked her to choose between a personal connection and the Inquisition. I should not like to see it repeated.” 

“What happened last time?” Fenris asked. Both women turned to him, frowning. 

“She wished to send our forces to extricate you from Tevinter, but we convinced her otherwise with the assistance of Master Tethras. I thought she’d never forgive us when his name came back on the casualty list.” Josephine fretted, bringing one hand to her lips in distress. “It was horrible. I’d never seen her so distraught.” 

“I was the one who had pushed her not to send anyone. I still feel guilty remembering the look on her face.” Leliana admitted. “We were beyond relieved when Varric arrived unharmed.” 

“Fine.” Fenris spat, feeling more ill at ease then he wanted to admit for his part in Cadash’s chipped and cracked heart. “Save the fool man if that is what she wishes. Why do I need to be here?” 

“Cullen left you in charge.” Josephine stated, as if that explained everything. He waited, but the other woman seemed to feel no further urge to explain. 

“Of defenses.” Fenris pointed out.

“Of everything.” Leliana persisted. “He said if there were any decisions that needed to be made, he trusted your wisdom and experience.” 

Fenris narrowed his eyes at the redhead. “Commander Rutherford did not say that about me.” 

“Well, his exact words were more along the lines of ‘the only foolish thing I’ve ever known Fenris to do was take up with Hawke.” Josephine admitted. “But we were trying to be tactful.” 

That did sound more like Cullen, but Fenris was not about to admit it. “There is no need for a clever plan if you wish the false warden’s release. We have the troops to storm the building and remove him.” 

“See, that sounded exactly like something Cullen would say.” Leliana rolled her eyes. Fenris was about to snap at her when the door behind them flew open and a small voice called out in delight. 

“Patruus!” Sabina cried, at his side in another heartbeat with her arms held up imploringly. Behind her, frozen in the door, stood the girl that often shadowed Varania. Rose, he believed her name was. 

“I’m so sorry.” The girl chattered nervously. “I cannot find the Champion anywhere and I asked her to wait but she made a run for it.” 

“It is alright.” Fenris had no idea why he made the blonde human so nervous, but the girl was staring at her own feet, twisting her skirt in her hands. “I…” 

Fenris meant to thank her, but the girl fled from the open door, footsteps rapidly echoing farther away. Fenris shook his head, bending to lift Sabina into his arms. 

“Now that is adorable.” Leliana grinned. “How are you today, miss Sabina?” 

“Fine.” Sabina answered, her warm cheek pressing against his shoulder. Her eyes were on the map, the markers littered all over it. “Where’s mama?” 

Fenris adjusted the child enough to reach to Val Royeaux, where the Inquisitor’s marker stood proudly. A great metal eye with the flames spiraling around it in a halo, the same symbol on each flag and banner. “She is here, Sabina. We are over here.” He trailed his finger across the map, back to Skyhold. Sabina’s eyes fixed on his finger, her eyes solemn and serious. 

“Will she come back soon?” Sabina asked, turning those green eyes back to him. Hawke teased and said that those were his eyes in Sabina’s face, but when he looked at her all he saw was Varania. The point of Varania’s chin, the slight turned up nose. Varania’s daughter, despite the darker complexion and the wild black curls, was growing into her mother’s features. 

“Yes.” Fenris answered. “Soon, in a few days. Would you like to help me find your amita? Unless my presence is still required?” 

Josephine’s smile was gentle. “I do believe miss Sabina requires you far more urgently than we do. If we receive any word from Varania, we will let you know directly.” 

Fenris knew they would not receive word from Varania. Hawke was a patient, dedicated teacher and Varania was a smart woman. Yet Varania was still learning the simplest of words alongside Sabina, still unsure of the correct ways to form the letters on her own. She would not admit her deficit in front of the Inquisitor, Varric, Commander Rutherford or Maker forbid, Dorian. 

Whatever Varania thought or felt would be a mystery, at least until  she returned. Perhaps longer. Still, Fenris nodded and turned, exiting the war room with Sabina still in his arms. 

“Did mama find the warden?” Sabina asked, innocent and guileless. Thom Rainier’s deception was not something Fenris felt able to explain adequately. Still, there was concern etched into Sabina’s brow and one of the wooden figures in her hand. 

“Yes.” Fenris answered simply. Fortunately, Sabina accepted that answer without additional questions. He would not be so lucky when he needed to explain the whole awful situation to Hawke. 

Sabina was quiet, her small fingers running over the wooden figurine. Fenris knew which one it was, Sabina had been carrying it since Varania had left with an attachment that had seemed puzzling until Fenris had actually looked at it. The carving wasn’t detailed, but the figure was obviously a slender elven woman, one hand gathered in her skirt, the other reaching down as if toward a child. Hair neatly in a bun knotted at the nape of her neck. But it was the face, carved simply and striking for the veil of calm sadness that covered it, that reminded him of Varania the most. As if with a few flicks of a knife she had been captured perfectly in wood. 

Fenris did not want to think of how long a man needed to think of a face to capture it’s very soul in sculpture. The thought made him want to scowl and punch and…

Hawke said with her easy shrug and endless optimism that if Varania had survived Tevinter for more than a decade on her own, she could handle her own heart. Fenris was less sure, a Magister could kill you, enslave you, torture you. But when Fenris thought back to the times he’d been certain he would emerge irreparably broken, he saw Hawke’s sunken cheeks in the deep roads, her stricken face against her crimson sheets as he abandoned her, the Arishok’s blade emerging from her back, the empty fishing hut, her small form frozen in an endless fall, Hawke’s beautiful hair in Corix’s grip…

“Will we ever go home?” Sabina’s question startled him, pulled him away from the dark thoughts and back to her green eyes. Home. For the first time, with a pang of guilt and uncertainty, Fenris realized that to his niece home was Minrathous.

“To Tevinter?” Fenris asked, emerging into the sunny garden. Mostly empty at this time of day, the lull between lunch and the evening meal. Sabina nodded, her fingers tracing thoughtfully over the wooden doll in her hands. Fenris sighed, swinging the child onto one of the stone benches so she could stand only a few inches shorter than him. “Would you like to?” 

“I miss the avias.” Sabina admitted mournfully, referring to the elderly woman Fenris knew hung around the tenements where Varania had lived. “Avia Melusine gave me pieces of honey cake when I was good. And there were dancers in the market, mama and I would go. It wasn’t cold.” 

“Perhaps someday you and your mother could return.” Fenris said, slowly, with another uncomfortable pang. Varania and Sabina could vanish again easily into Tevinter, two elves among thousands. Even if another enemy of his should try to find them, it had taken the abomination to tip the scales and expose them. Varania was used to secrecy, to caution. Fenris would never return, even if he wished it. It had been too risky the first time, he was too distinct. 

“If you wished.” 

“Mama said there are qui malus. The bad people kept us from going home.” Sabina sat on the bench heavily, fist curling around her figurine. “Non essemus tutum.” 

“No.” Fenris agreed. “You were not safe, but now you are.” 

“Mama is safe and amita is safe. Amita’s baby is safe.” Sabina said thoughtfully. “Can we stay with you and amita and the baby? We can build a real house.” 

“I do not know how to build a house.” Fenris admitted, feeling the knot in his chest loosen. 

“It is okay.” Sabina said serenely. “Mama and amita can build it with magic.” 

“We must find your amita first.” Fenris said simply, holding one hand out to the child. Sabina took it and slid from the bench, but her grip did not loosen as they walked away. They found Hawke curled up in an alcove in the library, Lucia at her feet, the light swirling over her head. 

“Amiiiita.” Sabina sang, patting her cheek. “Wake up.” 

“Hello Pup.” Hawke rubbed her hand against her eyes briskly, looping one arm around Sabina’s waist. Her blue eyes opened blearily, blinking once, twice, then fastening on Fenris standing in the entrance of the alcove. Her whole face softened into something so tender Fenris had no words to describe it beyond one - love. His love. “Amatus.” Hawke whispered softly, her smile bright. 

“You are becoming terrible with these naps, Reyna. Any sunny spot seems to lure you to sleep.” He tried to sound irritated, but even he could hear the fondness in his voice as Hawke stretched, laughed at his gruffness. 

“It’s your child who keeps me up at all hours with her restless moving.” Hawke complained, placing her hands behind her back, rubbing a sore spot on her spine. 

“He is training already to be a strong warrior.” Fenris gently laid his palm on Reyna’s abdomen. Hawke rolled her eyes then grinned wickedly. 

“Perhaps he or she is simply choreographing their dance routines.” She replied flippantly. Fenris felt a small ripple under his palm and smiled as well as Hawke guided Sabina to feel as well. They both laughed when the baby’s movement startled Sabina into withdrawing her hand, a confused and alarmed expression over her pointed features. 

“Ser Hawke.” A soldier said from behind them, lingering in the shelves. “I’m sorry to bother you, Ser, but the patrols have found signs of fresh campfires. They are uncertain as to whether they are refugees on foot, avvar, or Venatori, Ser.” 

Hawke sighed, rolling her blue eyes. “You’re beginning to work as hard as Cullen. Next thing I know, I’ll be dragging you to bed each evening.” 

“It is only for a few more days.” Fenris smirked. “And I would never tarry when I knew you were waiting for me.” 

“Be still, my heart.” Hawke teased, one hand pressed to her chest while the other circled Sabina. “Off you go, Fenris. Come find us later and see what trouble we’ve gotten into.” 

Fenris turned to the soldier, filing away the pretty pink flush over Hawke’s cheek despite her teasing. 

 

Fenris would not admit it, but he was relieved when he received the message that the Inquisitor’s party was coming up the mountain pass. He had been stuck in the war room attempting to make sense of a series of scrawled reports for two hours and was eager to dump them back on Commander Rutherford. He hated to admit it, but the whole Inquisition would have fallen into disrepair if Cullen did not return posthaste. He was also going to tear the heart from the next person who interrupted any time alone he snatched with his wife. 

His first instinct, however, was to retrieve Sabina from the mage’s tower. Hawke was in the library, so he had to make himself climb the stairs to the second floor, ignoring the crashing waves of magic that made his skin tingle and ache. He hated this building, would never have come here for a moment if not for the two women and one girl who so often occupied it. He was still more content to wait for them outside rather than risk his very teeth vibrating in his skull from all the mana whirling around. 

When he got to the second floor, he heard Sabina singing. Her voice was pitched high, her childish voice wavering a bit on the notes, but he would have known it anywhere. Her back was turned to him as she reached above her head, touching a spinning glowing orb of light. 

 

_ Leto stepped into the slave’s dining area, his dark hair plastered to his face from the downpour, drenched through his leathers and armor, chilled to the bone. Not far from the great fireplace where a spit of meat roasted (turned by two small boys, a job Leto had once done), sat Varania, her hair glowing in the firelight. She had rich velvet spread over her lap, a brilliant blue that she was trimming with silver cloth. She had her back pressed to the table behind her, feet tucked under her on the bench. The bench behind her was occupied by Corix’s secretary, an abacus and a long parchment scroll set before him, his dark hair falling in his eyes as he worked. Varania was singing softly under her breath.  _

_ “There is a house by the sea and an ocean between it and me…” Varania sang as the needle flashed in and out of the fabric like a song of it’s own. And Nico looked up from his abacus, his dark eyes focused on the slim line of Varania’s neck, the curved point of her ear. There wasn’t hunger there, which would have been bad but manageable. No, there was a softness there, a tenderness, a deep mournful ache that Leto felt sometimes when he considered the days stretching on. Something large and lovely.  _

_ “Varania.” Leto said softly, unwilling to startle her. She looked up from her work, the song dying in her throat as she looked up at him, missing the guilty way Nico ripped his eyes from her and back down to his papers. Varania laughed instead, one hand flying over her mouth. _

_ “You look like a drowned cat.” She observed, standing quickly and placing the fine cloth behind her on the table. “Watch this, please? I must go and find something to dry my brother off with.”  _

_ “Of course.” Nico muttered, not looking up as Varania dashed away. Far away from the rich velvet, Leto began to unbuckle armor.  _

_ “You do not need to watch it, I will do so.” Leto muttered. Then, because he could not resist. “She is a bit young for you.”  _

_ “I would not do anything dishonorable.” Nico protested, his dark eyes flicking up in aggravation. _

_ That was not exactly what Leto was afraid of. What he was afraid of was so complex he was uncertain he could place it into words. He feared Varania’s broken heart because he knew the preferences of slaves were often worth less than the dirt. He feared the power any such affection would give someone else over them. He couldn’t bear to think of sharing their secret, of allowing anyone… _

_ “See that you do not.” Leto muttered darkly, watching as Varania returned with her light steps and ready smile, towels draped over her arms. She was humming as she tossed them down on the table, tossing one playfully over Leto’s head. _

 

Fenris was jerked back to the present by Sabina calling for him, her head tipped to the side, a fistful of light in one hand that was slowly dimming. There was a hand on her shoulder, holding her in place, and Fenris followed the hand up to the elven man. “Ser Hawke, are you well?” He asked. 

“Solas.” Fenris greeted warily, holding out one hand to Sabina. Solas’s eyes did not leave Fenris even as he nodded slowly, withdrawing his hand. 

“Go ahead, da’len.” Solas said softly. 

Quietly, Sabina slipped to his side, her big green eyes staring up at him even as the sparks melted away from her hand. “Patruus?” 

“I am well, Bina.” He said, gently placing his hand over her head. “Your mother is returning, would you like to meet her at the gate?” 

“Yes!” Sabina squealed, making for the stairs. Solas coughed from behind her and raised his fist to hide his smile. 

“Perhaps you should retrieve your cloak first, da’len.” He guided. Sabina stopped, scowling down the steps before taking off to the side of the tower where cloaks hung on hooks. Solas was continuing to consider Fenris and Fenris could feel his unease growing.

“She is a talented child.” Solas finally said neutrally. “I suspect with training, she will be a natural at whichever form a magic suits her most. Of course, she is more interested in becoming big enough to spar with her uncle and his troops.” 

“She is young.” Fenris remarked stiffly. 

“I should like her to know her magic is valued on its own. She looks up to you.” Solas advised. 

“I carried her from Tevinter as we fled the shackles uncontrolled mages would have only been too happy to clasp her into.” Fenris felt his fists clenching, the red haze of anger rising. “She is valued, regardless of her magic or what she does with it.” 

“A shame, what our people have endured.” Solas said, brows drawing close together. Before Fenris could even touch that patronizing and generalized statement, Sabina was beside him, cloak crooked and tugging impatiently at his hand. Instead of saying anything more, Fenris allowed the girl to lead him out of the mage’s tower, back into the clean and cool spring air. 

He heard Varric before he saw anyone else, and the words nearly made him groan. 

“So, we’re staring down the Qunari Arishok, just me, Hawke the Ferelden refugee, the exiled Dalish elf, and Broody. The Arishok can barely deign to look at us and Broody just begins speaking their damn language.” Varric’s laughter is refreshing. “Hawke turns to him and says ‘Please tell me that helped.’ Smug as your please, your brother turns and just says ‘We shall see.” 

“That does sound like him.” Varania said dryly, voice weary as Fenris and Sabina turned the corner. “I’m sure he was pleased with himself.”

Fenris had been, if he was honest. He’d more than enjoyed the admiring and grateful look Hawke had shot him. He had no other time to consider it as Sabina shouted and Varania looked up, her smile lighting up her whole face as her gaze fell on Sabina. 

“Stay put.” Fenris directed the excited child, stepping forward to catch the horse’s reins. “Varania.” He greeted, not without real warmth as her smile caught him as well. “Are you well?” 

“It is good to see both of you.” And there was real relief there, true happiness. “Please help me down. I’d like to see my daughter.” 

“I’ve been regaling her with stories, Broody.” Varric said with a jaunty wave. 

“So I hear.” Fenris remarked, reaching up to pull Varania from the horse, setting her lightly down on her feet. “They are mostly untrue, I assure you.” 

“I am sure they are.” Varania wrinkled her nose, but was already kneeling, arms out as Sabina raced into them, tossing her thin arms around her mother’s neck and burying her face into Varania’s skin. Without another word, Varania lifted the child up, smoothing back the curls gently. “Ah, see. I have missed you Bina. I have missed you very much.” Varania cooed, rocking Sabina back and forth slowly, resting her own cheek on Sabina’s head. 

“She has missed you.” Fenris stated evenly. “We all have.” 

It was difficult to say, but the shocked and delighted expression on Varania’s face was worth it. Perhaps he could not make her sorrow vanish, but she did not need to feel alone. Her smile had turned shy and she looked away, back down to Sabina. “Have you behaved yourself?” She inquired, leaning back to look into Sabina’s eyes. Fenris missed Sabina’s answer, because he had just realized that Commander Rutherford and the false warden were missing. 

“Where is Cullen?” Fenris whirled to face the Inquisitor, feeling panic clawing at his throat. 

“He said it was better that I not be seen escorting a notorious criminal back in person, so Cullen is doing it without me.” Cadash answered with a scowl as she slithered down her own horse. 

“Fasta vass! When is he returning?” Fenris demanded. “I can not bear the endless amount of inane questions and I cannot make sense of the scrawl of some of the soldiers.” 

“I’ll help.” Maria offered gallantly. “We’ll make a drinking game of it. Every time we thank the Maker for Cullen, we’ll take a shot.” 

“You may die.” Dorian advised sagely.

“Only if we’re drinking the swill you usually do.” Cadash sniffed. Fenris fought back his groan. 

“Cheer up Fenris.” Varric advised. “Curly will be back tomorrow.” 

 

Fenris knew why Cullen had sent the Inquisitor ahead as soon as the man rode into the courtyard with a small contingent of Inquisition guards. In the center of their tight knot was Thom Rainier, his hands chained but sitting as straight as a soldier on his horse. 

“Cadash would not have allowed that.” Fenris observed as he greeted the Commander, watching as Rainier swung himself off the horse easily, even with his hands chained. 

“I know.” Cullen said simply, shoulders stooped. “But if we would have just let him walk out of Val Royeaux, there’d have been riots. It was safer for everybody. How are things here?” 

“Under control.” Cadash’s help had been invaluable, her energy cutting the pile of work he had accumulated in more than half. “Perhaps next time you leave, you should clarify that I am in also in charge of your damned paperwork.” 

Cullen chuckled under his breath. “I knew you could handle it.” 

“The only foolish thing I’d ever done is marry Hawke?” Fenris quoted, folding his arms over his chest and reclining against the stone wall. Cullen chuckled even louder. 

“Maker’s breath, I’ll never understand how that happened. But… perhaps it was good for both of you. Obviously, she had an impact on you, but…” Cullen’s face darkened, pulled back to the smoke and chaos of Kirkwall. “I wonder, if not for you, would she have actually supported Anders in the end?” 

“I doubt it.” Fenris stated evenly. “Hawke would not countenance the slaughter of innocents, no matter what.” 

“She had been pushed very far by the Knight Commander.” Cullen said softly. “But, regardless, she did not. Although she still avoids me like the plague.” 

With that, the Commander vanished. Fenris stayed where he was, watching as the guards led Thom Rainier away into the fortress. He did not look away from the scene until the man disappeared and Fenris cast his gaze upwards, catching the flicker of red hair on the battlements, quickly retreating from view and back towards the mage’s tower. 


	72. Dragon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For once, Varania believes a promise.

**Who told you only the soft could be good mothers?  
** **That mothers could not be dragons in disguise?** ****  
**That women who teach their daughters how to preserve** ****  
**Themselves by breathing out lightning were any less** ****  
**Than wild, magical things when teaching their young** ****  
**About war and love’s terrible lies?** ****  
**_Mother Maleficent - Nikita Gill_ ** ****__  
  


_ Varania was at the open window, allowing the fresh air to drift in from the city. The wind was blowing the scent of the sea into her small apartment and Varania was embroidering maroon silk with gold thread by the window. She had one foot on the curved frame of Sabina’s bassinet and she moved her foot in time with a silent song to rock her child gently to sleep.  _

_ A knock at the door drew her attention and she stood, leaving the cradle rocking in the breeze. She moved across the small space, opening the door. It was open only a sliver before someone shoved it the rest of the way, knocking her backwards onto the floor. Her elbow hit the floor with enough force to shatter her bones and Varania cried out before she could stop herself. Sabina was crying and there was a man in the door, his handsome face staring down at her, eyes cold as he grinned humorlessly.  _

_ “There you are.” Corix whispered. “Stay on your knees.” Sabina’s cries intensified, shrill as if she were in pain. Her baby. Varania reached for her mana and found it gone, the fade beyond her reach as Corix reached down and grabbed her hair, twisting her head as he wrenched her up and… _

 

Varania awoke in a cold sweat, her heart hammering in her chest as if she’d run the whole way from Minrathous. She threw the blanket from her immediately and strode the few paces to Sabina’s cot, as if she could still hear her baby wailing from the fade. But Sabina was not a babe, not anymore, and the sight of her dark hair over the pillow was enough to bring Varania back to herself, despite her shaking hands as she gently laid one hand over Sabina’s rising and falling chest, feeling her fragile heartbeat dancing under her fingers before she snatched her hand away in irritation and snapped her fingers, fire flickering on two of the candles standing on the desk. They illuminated the remnants of what Varania had been working on, scraps of fabric and a paper with childish, large letters outlined next to Reyna’s neater, more precise letters. 

“Venhedis!” Varania hissed to herself, staring at the door and fighting the fear and nausea battling within her body.

There was nobody there, Varania reminded herself. She was no longer in Minrathous, she was at Skyhold and as far from Tevinter as she could have possibly gone. Even if she had been in Tevinter, Corix was dead and Danarius was dead. There was nobody left to darken her doorstep, nobody left to fear and hide from. Her magic was singing beneath her skin and Varania was safe. 

Yet, she still stood frozen, staring at the door. Feeling more and more foolish until finally she snapped into action, taking the remaining steps to it and throwing it open. The dim light from her candles illuminated the square in front of her door and she could see guttering torches lining the garden down the hall. Far more bravely than she felt, Varania took one step away from her door and into the darkness. Then she took another, until she could lean over the low wall separating her from the garden and she could crane her head up to look at the stars framed by sturdy stone walls around them. Varania found her heart slowing, her breath coming easier. 

“Milady.” Someone breathed softly from the garden and Varania looked to her left, to the familiar voice. The slight figure of a girl curled up on one of the stone benches against the wall, a heavy cape thrown over a thin white shift and blonde hair silvered by the moonlight. “You frightened me.” Rose continued, rubbing at her eyes, trying to abolish the evidence of tears tracking down her full cheeks. 

“What in the whole of Thedas has you out here like that?” Varania asked, ignoring that she was in her shift herself, without even a cloak to cover her. “You’ll catch your death.” 

“Sometimes at night I feel so…” Rose began, then covered her face with her hands as if to hide. “In the dormitory, with all the other mages, I lay awake and think I’ll hear the templars coming like they used to. They’d take one of the apprentices and… make them do things.” She admitted in a small, girlish voice. Varania felt something cold shiver down her spine. 

“The templars were allowed this?” Varania asked softly. Rose continued to hide her face. 

“Who would have believed us? And now I’m the only one still alive.” Rose whispered. Varania closed her eyes and sighed, looking over her shoulder at the open door, then back at the young woman in the garden. 

“Come on, then.” She said briskly. “You cannot stay out here, and if you cannot sleep with the others I suggest you sleep in my room.” 

“Do you mean it?” Rose asked, peeking from between her fingers. Varania very nearly smiled at the undertone of excitement. 

“I am not one who often says things she does not mean.” Varania advised, beckoning the girl over the wall. Rose clambered over with childish delight as Varania led her into the room, tossing the girls cloak over the desk and gesturing to the bed as Varania settled in front of the empty stove. 

“But where will you sleep?” Rose asked in a small voice. 

“I will slip in beside Sabina when I am tired again.” Varania said gently, reaching out to catch the wood in the stove on fire with her fingers, watching the flames flickering over the wood with a small amount of satisfaction. Much neater than Reyna’s, by far. “You may stay all night, if you wish. And you may come whenever you wish, I sleep lightly, I will let you in if you knock.” 

“You’re very kind.” Rose blurted out, rubbing her hand against her eyes again. “Some people say you’re like a snapping turtle, but you’re very kind really.” 

“Who says I am…” Varania began, then sighed. “It does not matter. I…”

Rose leaned forward in the bed, her knees drawn up to her chin and the shift tucked tightly around her. Yes, far more childish now than she was in the daylight, but the night and fear was capable of making many far older than her into children again. “What they did to you, and those other girls. It was not your fault. Never think it was. When a man touches you without your consent, he reveals himself as the worst kind of monster. But you have magic in your blood and you are just as dangerous as they are.” She advised softly. “Perhaps even more dangerous.” 

“I am not.” Rose protested.

“You could be.” Varania stared into the flames as Rose settled into the bed, laying her head down where Varania’s head had rested until recently, drawing the blanket up over her waist. Varania allowed the silence of the night to settle, but Rose’s voice broke through the quiet once more. 

“I heard he was not a warden, milady. Not really. Is it true?” She asked. Varania shook her head, then looked over her shoulder. 

“No. He is not who he said he was, that is true.” She replied, lifting her basket full of half finished sewing from its place by Sabina’s bed and bringing it to her side, lifting a torn tunic. One of Reyna’s, caught on a nail. 

“He still fancies you, and he’s still a good man.” Rose persisted stubbornly. “You’d be blind not to see it, milady. Right after we got here he spent a whole day carrying wounded soldiers up and down all those steps. Never took a break once.” 

“I did not say he is not a good man.” Varania stated evenly. “I think he is a good man with a dark past. I believe there are many such as him.”

“They’re trying him tomorrow morning. Is that why you were awake, milady?” Rose asked timidly, sinking into the blankets. 

“No. I know the Inquisitor will not see him suffer.” Varania was certain, the woman didn’t have the heart to betray a friend to their fate, whether or not it was deserved. “I do not always sleep well, either.” She admitted. 

“I am glad you were awake.” Rose admitted drowsily as Varania began to mend Reyna’s shirt. Within a short amount of time, the sound of her steady breathing joined Sabina’s, leaving Varania’s thoughts to wander. 

 

_ It smelled of rot and wet and death as she descended into the prison, the sound of the Inquisitor and her companions echoing far away, the sounds of gates slamming and iron bars much louder. Varania drew her cloak tighter around her, ignoring the leering gaze of some of the men in their dark cells as she walked forward until she caught sight of him, the light from a high window casting a hopeful patch of sun on the ground in front of him.  _

_ “You should not be here.” The man she knew as Blackwall whispered, his eyes closed. “This is not where you belong.”  _

_ “I have been in worse.” Varania said, pausing just outside the iron bars. She reached out one finger to trace along the cool metal, to feel the bumps and ridges under her fingers. The silence was heavy, oppressive, but Varania had endured worse silences. As it was, Thom Rainier broke first.  _

_ “I did not kill Blackwall. He died fighting darkspawn, took a blade for me. He meant to recruit me, but… instead of allowing the world to lose a good man, I decided to take his name and make a difference like he should have. I let Thom Rainier die there instead.” He explained, eyes still squeezed tightly shut. “But Warden Blackwall wouldn’t have let another die in his place. I had to…”  _

_ “I know.” Varania interrupted. Yes, she knew. She knew the price of mistakes that could not be fixed, of betrayals that could not be undone. “It was a brave thing to do, to come back.”  _

_ “Perhaps the only brave thing I have ever done. The only right thing I have ever done.” He muttered in disgust. “I did not want you to see me like this.” _

_ “I should have asked you what was troubling you. I could tell there was something, I did not think…” Varania sighed, shook her head. “I was caught up in my own regrets, too foolish to realize you were in pain. I am sorry.”  _

_ “Do not feel the need to apologize to me, my lady. Not after this. I am a liar and a coward who hid behind another man’s name.” He growled. Varania nearly laughed, reaching into the belt at her waist. She withdrew a piece of paper she herself could not read, the edges soft with wear and age. She slipped it through the crack in the bars, waiting patiently for him to take it. He eyed it suspiciously.  _

_ “I will drop it.” She scolded, and perhaps the tone was too much like the morning after they’d first met, her holding that blueberry muffin out under the clear blue sky while Sabina shouted joyously in the stables, because his eyes softened into something so tender she almost had to look away. Instead he reached out and took the letter from her hands, unfolding it gently, his brow furrowing.  _

_ “I… I do not understand, milady.” He said grimly. “It has your name listed, and your features, but this word…lib...lib...”  _

_ “Liberati.” Varania said softly, jerking her head at the paper. “It is the paper that proves I am freed in Tevinter, that I do not belong to a Magister.”  _

_ He almost dropped it and his scowl deepened into something angry, holding the paper as if it were offensive. “You are a free woman.” He growled, shoving the paper back through the bars. “You need no paper to prove it, my lady.”  _

_ “It has my name on it.” Varania said simply. “My brother’s final gift to me, my name on a piece of paper that said no matter what, I was untouchable as long as I had this paper. If I had lost it, if I had changed my name… it would all have been meaningless. I did not realize how much my name had trapped me until later, but I know it now.” She had been tracked, stalked, hunted like prey through the warrens of Minrathous, on the open streets of Qarinus, her movements studied obsessively by enemies she had thought to shed. And yet, even now, the instinct to keep that paper with her had become so second nature that she never removed it from the pouch at her belt.  _

_ “I would have abandoned my name in a moment if not for this paper. I would have become a different person, hidden myself so deeply away I could never be found, but I could not.” Varania hunched her shoulders.  _

_ “You have done nothing wrong. You would have shed your name for your safety, it’s hardly the same.” Thom responded stubbornly.  _

_ “I have.” Varania said simply, turning away and leaning back against the bars. She could not face him and say these things. “Once, a praedator came to the insulae. Sabina was nearly four. The Praedator are hunters, searching for escaped slaves in Minrathous, or children who should be slaves and are not, like my Bina. Her father was a slave, and thus, she should have been as well. I would not allow it.”  _

_ “Of course you wouldn’t. It is not the same as murdering…”  _

_ “Shush.” Varania said quickly, closing her own eyes and remembering that sunny day. Sabina in her arms as the man approached, the fear flooding her veins and sharpening her mind. “He asked for Sabina’s papers, and I did not have them. But I took him to my apartment, had him follow me up the stairs. We walked past the door of one of my neighbors, and I knew she had a son with no papers. I could hear her singing to him as I walked past so I… I told the man. He burst down the door and the woman cried, begged him to stop, threw herself between him and her son. He was Sabina’s age.”  _

_ “You had to survive.” Thom muttered. Varania shook her head.  _

_ “There were other ways. He ran his sword through her heart and took her child, he was covered in his mother’s blood and wailing. He thanked me for being a good citizen as he left. I could have fought him in my apartment, I could have ran, but I did none of those things. Varania of Minrathous is as much a murderer as you are, Thom. I have killed dozens. Perhaps a hundred. Because it was easier to do so. I betrayed my own brother, I…” She took a deep breath, allowed herself to breathe out.  _

_ “It is not the same.” He said gently, and she could feel his hand through the bars, his fingers on hers, lightly resting on her wrist. “You became a dragon so that they couldn’t hurt you, my lady. You preserved yourself and your little girl by breathing fire, and nobody could blame you for that. I am… a selfish man.” _

_ “You are a good man.” Varania said softly. “I know the difference between good men and bad men.”  _

_ “Don’t you understand, I gave the order to kill that man, his family, his entourage! When it came to light, I ran and left my men to die.” He shook the bars against her back in frustration, turning in his cell. When she looked over her shoulder she could see the muscles in his back shaking with suppressed emotion. “Why have you come?”  _

_ Varania had asked herself the same thing when she had seen him step onto the gallows, the moment that both she and the Inquisitor had realized something was terribly wrong and they were too late to beat the storm. She could have stayed at Skyhold, stayed with Sabina, with Reyna and Fenris. And the terrible truth she had realized at that critical moment.  _

_ “Is it not enough that you are my friend?” She asked.  _

_ “Is that why you came?” He pressed, still turned away from her. _

_ “No.” She admitted, pushing away from the bars. _

_ “Varania!” He called. He held the paper out to her and she shook her head.  _

_ “Keep it. Or toss it. It does not matter.” She said, quickly vanishing into the shadows of the prison.  _

 

She saw Sabina to her lessons, then waited on the terrace above the garden, just inside the door that would lead to the great hall. It was propped open to allow the spring breeze to slip inside and she could a crowd milling around, hushed whispers, a shrill burst of laughter. Nothing like a spectacle of disgrace to draw a crowd. 

“I thought I would find you inside.” Fenris said from behind her. When she looked over her shoulder she could see him leaning casually against the door frame, green eyes steady on her. “Reyna is downstairs still, she refuses to climb the steps unless she must.” 

“I will stay up here and watch from the balcony.” Varania said simply. “He will not thank me if he sees me in the crowd. Besides, I could choke on all that perfume the nobles wear.” 

“I would stay with you up here.” Fenris offered. “If you did not wish to be alone.” He amended when she looked over her shoulder again. 

“Has Reyna put you up to this?” Varania asked suspiciously. Fenris only smirked. 

“Perhaps.” He answered. “But I would not be here if I did not think she had a point. I am...sorry that he is not who you thought he was.” 

“He is still a kind man and it has been… nice to count him as a friend. I would not abandon him now.” Varania did not miss the way Fenris’s eyes narrowed as he considered her words. 

“A friend?” He echoed. 

“A friend.” She confirmed. “I am… unable to consider anything more. But if there were anything more it would not be your business, yes?” 

She did not miss Fenris rolling his eyes, but she did not get a chance to comment on it. She was pulled to the door frame by the sound of people scurrying, booted feet and clanking chainmail. Fenris followed her inside to the banister, from which she could look down on the scene. 

She had seen Fenris rip the heart from a man. She wandered, idly, if this is what it felt like when he squeezed his fist around muscle. Something seized her heart, something cold and icy, at the image of Thom Rainier chained and muscled between two Inquisition guards. She had thought it had been bad when she had watched him dismount with the chains between his wrists, but seeing not only them but his ankles shackled as well…

“Leniret te.” Fenris whispered from beside her. “All is well.” 

Varania took a deep breath, eyes swinging to the small woman on the wrought iron throne. Her face was stony and she was glaring at the ambassador. “Are the chains necessary?” The Inquisitor asked tersely.

“Inquisitor, I must present Captain Thom Rainier, formerly known as Warden Blackwall to us. You are...aware of his crimes.” The ambassador faltered just a moment under the steely gaze of the Inquisitor. “It was no small expense to bring him here, but the decision of what to do with him is now yours.” 

The Inquisitor sighed, rubbing her forehead before straightening in the chair. “I have to admit, I didn’t think seeing you like this would be easy. I really didn’t expect it to be this hard.” 

“Another thing to regret.” Thom remarked gruffly. “What did you have to do to release me, Inquisitor?” 

“It doesn’t matter.” She answered. 

“The world will learn how you’ve used your influence, Maria.” He growled, the chains rattling. The use of her name silenced the muttering crowd, shocked and stunned them, but it only brought a red flush to the dwarf’s cheeks. Anger. “They’ll know the Inquisition is corrupt.” 

“The people, my people, put me here knowing who I was, what I was before. I’m a criminal and I’ve never tried to hide it.” Unlike some people, she left unsaid. Varania felt her grip tightening on the banister before her. 

“You should have left me there.” He snarled. “I accepted my punishment. I was ready for all of this to end. Why would you stop it? What would you have me do now, Inquisitor?” 

The emphasis on her title, heavy and laden with meaning and pain. And Varania could see the anger simmering in the Inquisitor, coiled tightly. 

“You have your freedom.” She said quietly, the hall hanging on her every word. 

“It cannot be as simple as that.” Thom scoffed. 

“It is the least simple thing I can do.” The Inquisitor answered. “You’re free to atone as the man you are. Not the traitor you think you are or the Warden you pretended to be.” 

“It will take time. You could… accept me for who I am?” He asked, incredulous. The Inquisitor stood, small beside him as she approached, reaching up to take something small from her hair.

“Your worship, we have the keys right…” One of the guards began.

“Keys are for idiots with clumsy fingers.” The Inquisitor muttered, fiddling for just seconds with the shackles before they fell onto the floor with a great clang that echoed in the hall. “I’m still furious, whatever your name is. But the man who signed on to help me close a giant hole in the sky, the man who stuck with me when it all went to the void. He’s a good man.” She said conversationally as she bent to tackle the ones around his ankles.

“I swear, I will make sure you do not regret this.” Thom promised. 

“I know.” The Inquisitor said simply, the last of the chains free. Varania felt the weight on her chest lessen as she took a step away from the bannister, backing up towards the garden.

“Are you well?” Fenris asked, almost gentle. 

“I will be.” She replied, slipping out into the open air, to the freedom of the sky above them and the sound of birds instead of chains. 

 

When there was a knock at her door after Sabina had fallen asleep, she expected to open it and find Rose. Perhaps that was foolish, to think he would not come. Still, she couldn’t hide her shock when instead of the slight adolescent, Thom filled her door. 

“I had hoped you were still awake.” He said softly. “Is Sabina asleep?” 

“She is.” Varania answered, taking a step back into her room. “Would you like to come in?” 

“I don’t want to wake her.” He said softly. “Could you… step outside with me for a moment?”

He gestured to the low wall behind him and Varania nodded, watching him step backward as she left the warmth of her room. The nights were getting warmer, slowly, but still she shivered nearly as soon as she left the room. It would be too much to hope he had not noticed, but he was already unbuttoning his quilted coat chivalrously. 

“I can live with being a bit cold.” Varania stated, crossing her arms over her chest and trying to sound more fierce than she felt. He smiled, slipping the coat from his shoulders and gently laying it over hers. 

“No reason you should be. I have been… thinking of you. I haven’t been able to think of much else.” He admitted, the torchlight of the garden softening his features as he looked down at her. “I wanted you to know, I meant every word I said before I left. About how you deserve to be happy. To be loved.” 

“Ser Rainier…” Varania began. 

“Thom, my lady. That is what you called me in Val Royeaux when you were angry with me. I had ached to hear you say my name since that first night I found you in the stables. You must have realized how right it sounded.” His dark eyes blazed as he reached out, took her hand in his own. His was calloused from the hilt of a sword, rough under her fingers. “Do you think of me?”

Yes, she did. Late at night when she sat in front of the stove, sewing by the light of the fire. In the quiet moments when she organized the healing herbs in the mage’s tower or when she brushed through Tyrus’s mane. Even in the quiet still moments before sleep claimed her, she often conjured his face no matter how much of a betrayal it seemed. A betrayal of Sabina, of Nico. 

“You do not understand. It is not simple.” Varania protested, but she didn’t pull her hand from his. 

“It doesn’t need to be simple. If there is a chance you could consider a man such as me, my lady, I would wait for you.” He promised, his grip tightening on her hand. Varania’s immediate response was to reject it as an empty promise, an impossible promise, as she had rejected so many others before. She almost managed it until she looked up from his grip on her hand and met his eyes. 

“You mean it.” She observed in shock. “You would honestly wait for me?” 

“Till the end of days, if that was what it took, my lady.” He swore, eyes burning brightly. “You will never find me untrue.” 

Varania was at a loss for words. Luckily, she did not have an opportunity to make a fool of herself. The door to  the great hall across the garden opened, emitting a beam of light and echoing laughter. The couple stepping through the door paused, at first caught in the light behind them before they shut the door. Blackwall relaxed his grip and Varania snatched her hand back, fisting it in the fabric of her skirt and ducking her head. 

“Maker, this looks fascinating.” Reyna drawled with a satisfied and wicked grin. Fenris looked decidedly less amused. “Please, don’t let us interrupt.” 

“I was about to take my leave.” Thom muttered, ducking his own head. Varania felt like a girl caught in a forbidden tryst, couldn’t hide the blush creeping up her cheeks. 

“It is rather late to be skulking about the garden.” Fenis stated dangerously. 

“This is the most public skulking I’ve ever seen. If this is skulking, they need skulking lessons.” Reyna chirped brightly, nearly bouncing on the balls of her feet. 

“Goodnight, my lady.” Thom said, sketching a slight bow before turning towards the door Fenris and Reyna had just appeared through. Heart hammering, Varania watched him go with a sickness in her belly that was not altogether completely unpleasant. 

“If he is bothering you…” Fenris threatened. Reyna laughed. 

“Does she look bothered?” She asked, sending her elbow gently into Fenris’s ribs. “Was he reading you poetry out here? I bet he was. He seems like the type.” 

“I am not discussing this with either of you.” Varania cut in frostily, turning back to her door. “Goodnight.” 

“Goodnight!” Reyna called sweetly after her as Varania escaped back into her room. It was not until she was inside that she realized Thom Rainier’s coat was still draped across her shoulders. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *leniret te: calm yourself


	73. War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maria Cadash learns the cost of war and the price of failure.

**If he threatens you with battle,  
** **You raise him a whole war,** ****  
**The last time I checked,** ****  
**Queens cower before no man.** **  
** ****_Nikita Gill - Queens II_

 

“I need you.” She purred in his ear, her fingers slipping down the leather jacket, caressing his arm with a sultry promise. Varric was suddenly completely uninterested in the shooting contest in front of him, Sera and Scout Harding sending arrows flying into targets that were farther and farther away. The two women had scared off all their other competitors and were now sending insults flying that were steadily becoming more and more creative. 

“You two need a room, ya?” Sera asked with a retching noise, shaking her head in disgust. 

“All yours, Princess.” Varric said smoothly. Harding sighed softly and Sera sent a disgruntled look her way.

“What?” Harding asked as Maria slipped her arm through his elbow, winking at him. “It is awfully romantic.” 

Varric couldn’t help his own quiet chuckle, but to his intense disappointment they were not heading to Maria’s quarters, but to the garden. “I hate to break it to you, but I think Josephine gave my room away.” 

“Did she really?” Maria asked, startled. “You haven’t complained at all.” 

“I got a much better room in exchange.” He remarked, resting his other hand over her knuckles. “Nearly as good as my old place in Kirkwall.” 

“So where will you go when I inevitably get tired of your snoring?” She teased, continuing to steer them to the garden regardless.

“I figured I’d crash with Hawke. Listen, I’m beginning to get the feeling that your need of me is not exactly what I thought it was.” 

Maria laughed, the sound bright in the sunny garden as they entered, slipping to the side where the little used storerooms where situated. “I need your excellent mind instead of your fine body.” 

“You’re putting me to work.” He accused as they approached one of the doors. Maria’s smile faltered just a moment. 

“Yes.” She admitted as she placed her hand on the door. “And you are not going to be happy.” 

Varric did not like the sound of that, but before he could say anything else Maria was pushing the door to the room open, revealing a large mirror in an intricate, delicate frame. Varric felt his chest hair stand on end. “Damnit.” 

In the mirror, he could see the doubt flicker across Maria’s face and he turned to her, pulling free of her arm. “You do realize Daisy had one of these mirrors, and it didn’t exactly end well for anyone involved.” 

“I know.” She said simply, crossing her arms under her bosom. “This one works.”

“Where in the bleeding void did you even find this thing?” He asked, slowly approaching it like he would have approached a sleeping dragon, wishing to the void in back it didn’t wake up. 

“It belongs to Morrigan.” She answered, leaning against the stone wall at her back after she shut the door. “It goes to a place she calls the crossroads. It’s not the fade exactly, according to her, but it’s pretty damn close to it. She took me on a little excursion.”

“I thought we agreed you were going to stop adventuring into the fade.” He replied, reaching one hand out to brush the metal surrounding the shining surface.

“Trust me, I’m just as distraught about it as you are.” She shrugged. “Morrigan says there’s another one of these in a temple in the Arbor Wilds, but it was too heavily guarded for her to access while she was trying to find one of her own. We have reports that a force of Venatori and red templars are amassing on the outskirts of the forest.” 

“So Corypheus thinks he can use one of these to break back into the fade without your mark?” Varric asked, turning to look at her. In the quiet space of this room, she looked small. Too small. 

“Apparently.” Maria pushed herself away from the wall, sauntering to his side and brushing her thumb down his cheek. He could smell the leather of her gloves, the scent of the ink that was staining the sleeve of her tunic. “I gave the order to begin preparing for a march to the Arbor Wilds. I need to beat him to that damned mirror and make sure he doesn’t get it.” 

She was going to war. Varric shouldn’t be surprised, he had known since they stumbled into Skyhold she would have to eventually. It was what they’d been working towards, hadn’t it? Still, his heart skipped a beat at the thought of the day finally arriving. There was more they could do, more favors to call in, more troops to recruit. Anything to increase the chance that  _ she _ would emerge intact. 

“How long?” He asked instead. 

“Five days.” She answered, a ghost of a smile on her lips. “What would it take to convince you to stay here so I didn’t have to worry about you?” 

He couldn’t help himself from rolling his eyes. “Better locks, a pretty damn good sleeping draught, and something strong enough to hold Hawke because she damn well wouldn’t stand for it.” 

“I thought I’d try, at least.” She said, leaning forward to brush her red lips over his cheek. “Five days, Tethras. Let’s make them count.”

 

Of course it all went to hell on day two when he received a summons to the war room. Unusual, but not completely so, until he ran into Hawke also making her way there. “Maker’s ass.” She said grimly. “I thought she was firing Fenris. Now I’m worried it’s a bit more serious.” 

“Why would she need you if she was firing Broody?” Varric asked. 

“Damage control. Obviously.” Hawke said reasonably, resting her hand on her stomach. “Have you seen the way the damned elf won’t let me do anything fun? He won’t start a brawl if I’m in the same room.” 

Varric thought about pointing out that it was quite often Hawke and Isabela that had started brawls, not Broody, but bit his tongue. Instead he focused on the same litany he’d been repeating for what felt like months. “You should have known he’d act like this. Broody never liked the idea of  _ you _ getting hurt, let alone Varric Junior.” 

“I swear I will put you in the stone myself, Varric, if you get everyone calling my baby that.” Hawke threatened without any real menace. “Besides, we have the names picked out.” 

Varric filed that away to hassle her about later as he pushed the door the the war room open. Broody was already present, scowling at the map darkly. If it were a person, Varric would have been concerned for it’s life. Maria was beside him, scribbling madly away on a piece of paper with Cullen at her elbow. She looked up as they came in, spared him a small smile, then ducked her head and continued writing.

“I take no responsibility for anything or anyone my husband may or may not have broken.” Hawke announced cheerfully. Cullen sighed in a way that was utterly resigned and Hawke broke into a wicked grin. “Unless it was something of Cullen’s.” She amended. 

“Hawke.” Cullen greeted wearily, a hand rising to the bridge of his nose. 

“Play nice.” Maria ordered mildly.

“There is a situation in Kirkwall.” Fenris said, tucking his hands behind his back and pulling his eyes from the map and resting them on Hawke and Varric instead. “Sebastian has invaded.” 

Any trace of laughter in Hawke’s face died. “Sebastian invaded Kirkwall?” She repeated, dumbstruck. “You cannot be serious.” 

“There.” Maria said simply, handing the paper to Cullen. “Will that do?” 

“Yes, Inquisitor.” Cullen nodded, satisfied. “I’ll see it done.” 

“See what done?” Varric asked, moving to the side to block Curly from leaving. 

“Apparently, the Inquisitor has taken Vael’s money in the past. He thought her his ally and asked for assistance laying siege to the city.” Fenris continued.

“Wait, I couldn’t have heard that correctly. You took Vael’s money.” Varric narrowed his eyes, staring at Maria. “When did you take his money?” 

“Everybody needs to calm the fuck down.” She declared imperiously, smoothing away the strands of red hair that were constantly falling loose from where she tied her hair back. Varric tried to ignore the endearing familiarity of it. “ _ We _ took Vael’s money. Back before Haven when I wasn’t even in charge. It was a decision made between all of us, Cassandra, Cullen, Leliana, Josephine and me.” 

“So you’re in Vael’s pocket.” Hawke stated grimly, resting a hand protectively over her stomach. “If I were in Vael’s pocket, I’d have probably let him haul you off Isabela’s ship in Jader.” Maria drummed her fingers against the table. “I’m sending a squadron to Kirkwall to reinforce Guard Captain Aveline.” 

Varric let himself breathe in relief. Hawke didn’t look any less distressed. “Is there...any word, Fenris? From Aveline or…?” 

“Nothing.” Fenris replied simply. “Although I believe Sebastian knows they are there.” 

“Prince Vael stated that Kirkwall is still home to many well known associates of Anders.” Maria said softly. “He means to root them out and learn his location through them.” 

“Merrill and Carver don’t know anything!” Hawke declared passionately, throwing her arm over her eyes to block out the afternoon sun. “Maker, we need to go.” 

“Unlikely.” Fenris muttered. “Even if you were in condition to go. Sebastian has demanded the Inquisitor turn us over to the remnants of the clerics for judgement. Counseled her against being taken in by your charm. He has stated he will come personally to collect you both if needed.” 

“Both?” Hawke asked with a groan. “Not you, of course Fenris, but I’m assuming Varric and I are in his sights?” 

“Firmly.” Maria sighed, propping both elbows on the table and staring at the map. “There’s more.” 

“Which she knew and did not share.” Fenris glared down at Maria. Maria ignored him, studiously. 

“Prince Vael’s wife is dead.” Maria explained. 

“Wife?” Hawke echoed, stunned. “No way. Sebastian took a vow of chastity.” 

“I’m pretty sure he was wearing a chastity belt and everything, Maria.” Varric added quickly. “I think that’s why he had Andraste’s face over his damned crotch.” 

“He got married shortly before the conclave to a noble from Starkhaven, Lady Flora Harimann. The marriage, according to Josephine, cemented his hold on Starkhaven after he got rid of his cousin. She gave birth to a baby girl about two months ago.” Maria continued.

“How did we miss this?” Varric asked. Maria frowned. 

“You missed it. She did not, she just didn’t share. I suspect she did not want to inform you that Vael had been a large financier of this operation.” Fenris growled. 

“Oh for the love of...will you please shut up?” Maria begged. 

“How did Princess Vael die?” Hawke interrupted. “I’m assuming that’s a damn important part of this story.” 

Maria took a deep breath, holding Varric’s gaze as she spoke. “The Breakers attacked her while she was opening a school in Starkhaven for orphaned girls. She was burned alive, by all reports, along with many of those that had attended the ceremony.” 

Fenris swore under his breath, wrenching himself away from the table and pacing to the opposite side of the room. Hawke reached out and gripped the table tightly, knuckles turning pale. “Anders killed her? He murdered her?” She questioned. 

“I don’t know if he was there. I didn’t know the Breakers were planning this or I would have done something.” Maria pleaded. “The man is crazed with grief and I don’t blame him. It’s not really a good excuse to go around annexing cities but…” 

“It’s my fault.” Hawke whispered. “Maker, Sebastian will never forgive me. I’ll never be able to stop running.” 

“It is not your fault.” Fenris responded, returning to Hawke’s side and slipping his arm around her expanded waist. “We will find an answer. For now, we are safe.” 

“You didn’t know the Breakers were planning this.” Varric repeated softly, looking across the table at Maria. “But you knew they were there.” 

Varric ignored the naked vulnerability on her beautiful face. “Yes.” She answered, the word barely a sound. “I didn’t want to make you upset.” 

“The girl.” Hawke said softly. “What is her name? Sebastian’s daughter?” 

“Audrey.” A motherless child, Varric thought. Two months, still a mewling infant and her father leading a pointless war. Did Sebastian know that Hawke was expecting her own baby, a child only months younger than his own heir? Unlikely, if there were Starkhaven spies in Skyhold Maria would have found out. 

_ And possibly used them for her own ends. _ A voice whispered in his head. “Why didn’t you do anything about the Breakers?” He asked aloud, staring into those storm tossed grey eyes. 

“I hoped they would lead me to Anders.” She answered honestly. “And that he could be eliminated.” 

Eliminated. Clean, simple.

Except it wasn’t clean or simple. Kirkwall was under siege, his friends threatened, a new mother murdered.

“You got it wrong this time, Cadash.” Varric said, turning and leaving the stifling war room and making his way to the tavern. He couldn’t bear to look at those grey eyes or Hawke’s stricken face or Fenris’s impotent anger. 

He couldn’t bear it. 

 

He hadn’t drowned his sorrows properly since Bartrand died. He and Hawke had drank their way through almost all the palpable whiskey the Hanged Man had in stock, collapsed in Varric’s bed, and woken up twelve hours later both sicker than dogs. This time, Hawke wasn’t drinking. She was staring glumly into a glass of cider, one hand over her stomach as Varric threw back the rest of the bottle himself. 

“She didn’t mean to cause this mess.” Hawke said softly. “Even Fenris can see that and he’s  _ furious _ with her for trying to solve our problems.” 

“It’s what she does.” Varric said simply, twirling the glass in his fingers. “She fell out of a damn hole in the sky and she thinks she’ll save the blighted world. She thinks she’s responsible for the damned world.” 

With that dark statement, Varric lifted the bottle again and drained the last of it into the glass, glaring at the amber liquid. “You know, choir boy married. I thought that’s something we’d have celebrated.” 

“Wait until Isabela hears.” Hawke sighed, slumping in her chair. “Maker, Varric. What are you going to do?”

“Continue to drink, Hawke.” Varric said, lifting the glass in a toast. Hawke sighed, slumping even further down until her stomach prevented her from sinking further. 

“Savior of a city is a difficult enough role, Varric. I can’t imagine it’s easy to shoulder a continent. I don’t imagine there’s much of a future in it.” Hawke said carefully, tapping her finger against her glass. 

“Don’t start, Hawke.” Varric warned. 

“Are you angry or scared?” Hawke whispered. Varric didn’t answer. Couldn’t answer. 

“All the time I’ve known you, I’ve seen you hide. In your stories, behind fake cousins that don’t exist, beneath the chest hair and the witty one-liners. You can’t hide from me anymore Varric.” 

“She shouldn’t have…” Varric began.

“She shouldn’t have.” Hawke agreed. “And she regrets it. But she can’t make the right call all the time. She isn’t a hero from one of your stories Varric. She isn’t going to always emerge victorious, omniscient. She can’t.”

“We shouldn’t have let Anders go.” Varric slammed his glass back onto the table. Hawke rubbed at her temple.

“I know.” She said softly, focusing on something far away and blinking the tears away. “I’m not perfect either, Varric, no matter how much you want to write me that way. I made the wrong call too and lots of people have died.”

“How many more people are going to die in Kirkwall because of Maria’s?” Varric asked. “She didn’t even… she should have told me, Hawke.” 

“I can’t fault her for trying to protect you, Varric.” Hawke smiled softly, pulling the glass closer to her. “Even Fenris couldn’t. At least you landed in good hands.” 

Hawke knew him best, had always known him best. She would know that behind the hand he raised to hide his face, that he’d begun to crumble. Hawke reached across the table, her hand warm on his arm and she was comfortable with the silence Varric couldn’t finagle into words. 

“Festis bei umo canavarum.” Hawke said finally, her accent impeccable and indistinguishable from Fenris and Varania. “You’ll be the death of me. I’m sure Fenris wouldn’t mind if you started shouting it at the Inquisitor.” 

He cracked a smile at that, watery and unsure as Hawke patted his arm. “I’ll ship Fenris off and you’ll stay with me tonight.” She soothed.

 

When Varric finally crawled out of Hawke’s room, closer to noon than he’d like to admit, the first place he went was Maria’s room. It was empty, cold. There wasn’t even a half empty cup of coffee on her desk and the bed looked suspiciously unslept in, a jacket still thrown carelessly over the quilt. At first, he thought she’d fled in the night (and wouldn’t Nightingale just die if the Inquisitor managed to slip past her nose again?) but her bow was still leaning against the wardrobe with a quiver on the floor. 

In Skyhold, somewhere. Varric knew better than to go searching for her. If she didn’t want to be found, she wouldn’t be. Nobody knew the castle better than Maria, the winding staircases, the hundreds of rooms, crumbling battlements, and the hole in Cullen’s roof she still hadn’t managed to get patched. 

Skyhold was Maria, the castle in the sky, the shining light over the chasm. So brilliant and steady that it took awhile to notice all the locked little rooms full of dark secrets. She had changed. Was changing.  _ Eliminated _ . Not her word, but Nightingale’s. 

She hated watching executions but had no issue with ordering one, apparently, as long as she didn’t have to stay and watch the aftermath. 

Her mistake had cost the life of a woman who’d done nothing wrong. Another victim of Anders’ vendetta. Varric wanted to blame her, to heap the guilt on her shoulders for the cost Kirkwall would pay, the pain Sebastian must feel, the guilt and fear of Hawke and Fenris. 

If she bore the burden, he wouldn’t have to. If he was angry at her, he wouldn’t need to think about the guilt laying over her shoulders, how small she looked without her armor, without the crowds mobbing her. He didn’t have to think of the countless times he’d woken up to find her on her balcony, deep in thought, or building those endless card towers. 

He wouldn’t have to consider that she may die and there was nothing either of them could do about it. 

Varric felt old and tired. 

 

He wasn’t there when the message arrived, so he could only tell the story second hand. He should have been there, would have been there, if he hadn’t been considering continuing to drown his self-loathing in the tavern. He didn’t see Isabela slip into Skyhold like a child bearing a guilty secret, the message folded in her boot. Hawke didn’t believe it  when she spotted the pirate queen so far from her beckoning sea. She’d thought she must have been mistaken, but left her spot at the mage’s tower anyway to see. Unfortunately, Hawke wasn’t as fast as she used to be. If she’d have intercepted Isabela, she would have been off like a shot to find Varric. 

Instead, Isabela walked into the great hall and asked to be directed to the Inquisitor. She was pointed up to the library, where Maria was hiding in Dorian’s alcove, curled into his armchair and staring out the window. An unusual amount of inactivity for the Inquisitor, but she’d had her own bender the night before with Sera and could be forgiven for nursing her guilt and hangover while Dorian mumbled soothingly in Tevene about the atrocious state of her library. Dorian did intercept Isabela, informed her haughtily that the Inquisitor was not to be bothered. Before knives could be drawn, Maria had told Dorian it was alright, that she’d see Isabela. She’d done it for him, he knew. Maria wouldn’t turn away a friend of his, it wasn’t in her complicated nature. 

Isabela delivered the blow as gently as she could, pulling the message from her boot and saying she was sorry. If Beatrix could have come in person, she would have, but Beatrix had fled back to Ostwick to try to handle the situation. To fill the vacuum of power that had emptied so suddenly and stabilize the whole operation before it went tits up. 

Maria didn’t hear any of this, she’d already opened the message, curled up in the large chair with a cup of coffee balanced precariously on the armrest. Varric did get a chance to read the letter himself when Dorian picked it up off the floor and delivered it to the Inquisitor’s rooms. But that was after, after Maria read the sentence informing her that Zarra Cadash had been traveling between Ostwick and Markham when her caravan had been attacked by red templars and venatori. There had been no survivors. They had drawn Maria’s symbol in her grandmother’s blood, with Zarra Cadash laying in the center of the burning eye. 

There had been no wail of grief. Instead, for the first time, Dorian watched tears track down the Inquisitor’s face unbidden as she curled into a ball, as if she could withdraw from the wound she’d taken. The one that lanced straight through her. She said nothing when Dorian engulfed her in an embrace and kissed her temple, said nothing when Isabela sputtered apologies. 

She didn’t say anything until Iron Bull pulled Varric from the tavern, dragged him across the courtyard and shoved him up into the library where Dorian lingered like a dragon, scattering everybody from the entire floor of the rotunda with glares and threats. Maria only looked up at Varric and said one sentence. “It’s my fault too.” 

And it was, but it wasn’t. Varric looked at her helplessly, stroking her cheek as the tears continued to fall, the horrible letter crumbled in her hand. 

“He’ll pay for this.” She threatened, hell burning in her eyes. “They all will.” 


	74. Grief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varania decides to go to war. The Inquisitor suffers. Fenris learns what happened to Nico.

“I received your message.” Fenris scowled down at Varania, sitting the garden’s grass with her legs tucked under her. Lined up before her were all of Sabina’s wooden toys in a line facing an opposing line, two armies ready to clash. Sabina continued on as Fenris’s shadow loomed over their play. Varania looked up, wrinkling her nose. 

“It is finally warm and you are going to stand in my sun?” She asked, making a shooing motion with her hand. Fenris, despite his irritation, moved to the side as Sabina wickedly reached out and snatched a horse from her mother’s row. 

“Bina! Now what shall I do?” Varania teased lightly. “Perhaps I will send my dragon after you.” 

“You have the nug.” Sabina grinned. “I have the dragon.” 

“Well, now I say it is a dragon.” Varania said simply, pulling the carved nug to the center and making it charge Sabina’s line, scattering wooden toys everywhere. Sabina shrieked and laughed, quickly pulling all of the figures beyond Varania’s reach. 

“Are we going to discuss your message?” He asked, glaring down at her. Varania hummed a note under her breath, a smile playing around her lips. 

“I suspect we are regardless of my feelings about it.” She stated with that same slight, teasing edge. Fenris scowled even harder down at her head until she looked up and laughed, gesturing to the ground beside her. 

“Come, play with us. I am going with the soldiers and I refuse to not enjoy my final day with Sabina before I leave. You may enjoy it with me or go elsewhere, but I would prefer if you stayed.” She was smiling, shyly again and Sabina clapped her hands in delight as Fenris dropped heavily onto his haunches. 

“You do not need to go.” Fenris growled. “The Inquisitor should not have asked you.” 

“She did not ask me. She should have.” Varania was dividing her own forces, sharing half of them with Fenris. “I volunteered because I  _ do _ need to go. The healers are still not as well trained as they could be. It would be selfish and irresponsible to stay.” 

“I am staying.” Fenris glared at the line of wooden troops in front of him. 

“If you were to leave, Reyna would go into early labor out of spite. No, you must stay.” Varania agreed, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Besides, how could I leave Bina if I did not know you were here to watch out for her?” 

“But you’ll come back soon, mama.” Sabina reminded her.

“Of course I will, love.” Varania nodded. “As soon as I can.” 

Sabina had lost interest, her eyes fixing on something behind her mother’s head. “Kieran!” She shouted, standing and knocking over several of her figures. Sabina was off like a loosed arrow, running around them and skidding to a stop in front of Morrigan’s boy. 

“Are you certain about that?” Fenris asked, staring at the other child doubtfully. Varania shrugged. 

“He seems normal enough.” She was delicately picking up the tumbled figures, turning her head up towards the warm sun to let it brush across her face. “I must go, if I go I will help immeasurably. I have heard the stories, of the breach, of Haven, of Redcliffe and Adamant. I will not sit idly by and do nothing only to have that evil creep up upon this castle.” 

“Why are you so difficult?” Fenris asked, exasperated. 

“Allow me to do this for you. If I go, I can help protect Bina and your baby. Surely, you would not deny me that?” Varania was staring at him, her green eyes wide and pleading. 

“And if my child does not ever meet their aunt because she insists on being foolish and brave?” Fenris tore his own gaze from her eyes. Varania sighed, pulling her knees up to her chin as she watched Kieran and Sabina observe the elf fighting with the elfroot plants. “You will tell them about me, I assume. But I will come back, I have faith in this Inquisition, in what the Inquisitor has built.” 

Fenris scoffed and Varania turned her speculative gaze back to him, allowing her eyes to rest on his face as she tipped her head to the side. “You would not be so angry with her if you did not also believe in her. It is the people who disappoint you that make you the most furious.” 

Varania did not say she knew this from personal experience. She did not have to. 

“She should have told us.” 

“For what?” Varania asked. “I suspect she is monitoring two-thirds of Thedas. Why should she have told you about the one cell of terrorists in Starkhaven? If it had not imploded, you would have thought it a streak of genius.” 

The fact that she was right bothered him more than he wanted to admit. 

 

Isabela said that the Inquisitor’s sister, with the bright gray eyes and the chocolate brown hair, did not mean what was in the letter. Or that she meant it, but she wouldn’t mean it in a week or two. In two weeks, the Inquisitor could be dead and Thedas destroyed, but Fenris knew the way anger poisoned. 

Isabela would not hear anything against the younger Cadash, regardless, when she sat beside Hawke and sang sea shanties to her stomach. Hawke was naturally suspicious. “So... you haven’t caught feelings, have you Isabela?” Hawke questioned slyly, eyes narrowed. 

“Me? Never.” Isabela declared breathlessly, fanning herself. 

“What did Beatrix say in the letter?” Fenris asked, arms crossed as he leaned against the door. 

“What makes you think I read it?” Isabela nearly managed to pull off morally scandalized, until Fenris raised one eyebrow and the pirate queen sighed. 

“The sort of thing people usually say when the world doesn’t make sense and they’re grieving. It’s your fault, if you had done this or that…” Isabela waved it away. “It’s nonsense, she’ll see it herself soon enough.”

“Yet you delivered it anyway.” Hawke sighed, leaning back on the bed.

“Well, it would have been suspicious if I delivered a ripped in half letter telling the Inquisitor that her grandmother was dead, wouldn’t it?” Isabela asked, rolling her eyes. Still, Fenris did not miss the uneasy shifting of Isabela’s shoulders as she scooted closer to Hawke. “So, tell me sweetness, how does it feel being as big as boat?” 

In the middle of the night, long after Isabela had fallen asleep in the chair at the desk and Hawke had drifted off, there was a knock at the door that jerked Fenris from his fitful doze into full alertness. Swinging from his place beside Hawke to the door and wrenching it open. “Sorry Ser.” One of his men, ill at ease in his new expensive armour. “We took up positions on the walls tonight to relieve the normal garrison prior to the march as ordered. I thought you’d want to know the Inquisitor left the fortress.” 

“Fasta vass.” Fenris grumbled. “To where?” 

“Only to the other side of the bridge, on foot. She set up one of the archery targets. Orders stand that she is not allowed to leave the fortress without a guard, per Commander Rutherford. She wouldn’t wait to see one assembled.” The man wavered, the continued on. “She remembered my name and promised she wouldn’t wander out of sight of the towers, but it still doesn’t feel safe Ser. Not after the assassination attempt.” 

“It is not safe.” Fenris growled. More to the point, Cadash knew very well it wasn’t safe and was against standing orders, that it would put his people in a difficult decision. “How long has she been out there?” 

“An hour, Ser. I came as soon as my relief arrived.” The man reported grimly. Fenris thought about sending him to rouse Varric, have him handle this. Instead, he grabbed his own cloak and shut the door on the sleeping women. “To your bed, then. I will handle it.” 

 

Cadash was so focused on what she was doing that she never heard the gate rumble open across the chasm when Fenris stole out of Skyhold. She did not turn to the soft sound of his footsteps. If he would have been an assassin, he thought ruefully, she would have been dead. As it was, the only sound was the soft thump of an arrow into a target, repetitive. There was a bullseye in the target, with one arrow sticking straight from it. The rest were resting on the concentric circles in even intervals, creating a geometric design that was almost beautiful. The last arrow completed the largest circle and she huffed out a breath, loping forward and beginning to rip the arrows from the target roughly with her left hand while the right clenched and unclenched repeatedly. 

He could feel the magic from where he stood at the end of the bridge. It burned across his brands like a fire, leaving a dull ache before it raced through him again, like a tide retreating and returning with a vengeance. This was nothing like Hawke’s elegant spells or Varnia’s careful control. This was wild, primal. The kind of magic that would gnaw on bones and punish anyone it touched. 

However much he felt, she had to feel worse, with that uncontrollable force embedded in her hand. She pulled the last arrow and turned, eyes glassy and unseeing, trudging back to her spot and turning on her heel to fire immediately. The arrow landed perfectly in the bullseye, quivering in place. He wasn’t focused on that, what he’d seen the moment before she released was another wave of magic, a swell of pain that had to have traveled through her arm before the arrow was loosed. Yet the only sign was a flicker on her face. 

Fenris could not help but admire it. He couldn’t help but understand this. The pain of her mark, so like the unbearable pain of his lyrium brands right after the ritual, could only be driven back by this kind of discipline. The endless pursuit of perfection, the dedication taken to maintain it through the rolling pain. 

Fenris could have returned to Skyhold, dragged Varric from the Inquisitor’s bed and had him drag the fool woman back to her tower. It would have perhaps been easier than to watch this scene, at once intensely private and utterly familiar. 

Instead, he settled himself at the bridge and watched the Herald of Andraste shoot her invisible demons and face down her ghosts while the magic in her palm exhausted itself. And when the rolling waves slowed and her shoulder began to tremble from the strain, he watched her sway and sit on the ground, exhausted with a pale sheen of sweat illuminated by starlight on her brow. 

“How long have you been there?” She asked, staring at her target still, but head inclined towards him. 

“Perhaps more than an hour and a half.” He responded, moving from his silent perch. His muscles strained at the sudden movement after his enforced stillness. “When did you realize I was here?” 

“Ten minutes ago.” She admitted, closing her eyes and leaning back on her palms. 

“You could have been killed.” He scolded. 

“I would be so lucky.” She snapped, a sound which would have been more intimidating if she didn’t sound as if it was a struggle to stay awake. Fenris did not know what to say, so he said nothing. 

“My grandmother, the woman who raised me, was murdered because of what I’ve done. My only sister will probably never speak to me again. Varric is furious still and is just hiding it out of pity.” The word turned into a profanity in her mouth that twisted her lips into a snarl. “I am supposed to lead an army against a man who wants to be a god to obtain an artifact I don’t understand. All I do is leave dead bodies in my wake. The  _ kindest _ outcome will be if I manage to get myself killed.” 

“This is not the talk one expects from Andraste’s herald.” He remarked dryly. 

“I didn’t ask for this.” She whispered harshly. “I didn’t want this.” 

“You have been asked to do much.” Fenris jerked his chin at the path leading away from the fortress. “But you have the freedom to leave, if you so choose.” 

“And you think I would?” Cadash asked wearily. “That it would be so simple for me to walk away?” 

“I do not think you will.” Fenris crossed his arms over his chest, looking down at the woman on the ground. “I think you will return to that castle because you have nothing to lose but what resides inside it. Whatever you were before, whoever you were before, this is who you are now.” 

She apparently could not argue with that. Instead she gently pushed herself from the ground, favoring the arm with the spitting magic mark slightly. 

“Feathers brush my cheek. Wood solid, simple, strong in my hand and the string is taut. Her eyes are on my back, can feel them staring through me as the arrow flies loose, hits the mark, quivers slightly. The next arrow is already in my hand before it stops shaking, pulling back again, striking true. She laughs from behind me.” Every instinct had Fenris reaching for his sword before he recognized the young man stepping from the shadows, his eyes mournfully hanging on Maria. 

“I thought you were out here alone.” Fenris growled. 

“Hardly.” Cadash answered with a wry grin. “C’mon Cole.” 

“Eyes are like mine when I turn to look and she is smiling. ‘Look how well you’ve done! We will need smaller targets!’ She was so very proud of you. She was always so proud of you.” The boy continued. 

“I know.” Cadash said simply. “I wish I’d done better for her.” 

She looped her arm through his elbow, dragged him from the shadows and onto the bridge. Fenris walked behind, scanning the trees as they crossed the bridge.

“Ancestors, Andraste, the Maker, the Creators. It doesn’t matter, please protect her. Keep her safe.” Cole continued to mumble. “She is all I have left.” 

“Nanna would never ask the Elven Creators for anything, Cole.” Maria said mildly, nodding to the guard as they passed through the portcullis. 

“No. It wasn’t her.” Cole responded cryptically, rubbing his eyes. “It’s gone now.” 

 

Dorian sought him out the day before the troops were set to march. He walked slower than he usually did, a rolled piece of parchment in his hand. Fenris nodded to his troops to continue their drills as he turned to the altus. Amazingly, most of the former slaves did not begrudge Dorian. They remembered him fighting beside him and showed him a modicum of respect. The good altus, they said softly, perhaps the only good one. 

“Maevaris found the information you requested.” He said immediately. “It is… not good.” 

“Of course it is not. There was little doubt that the man was dead to begin with.” Fenris snapped. Dorian sighed, his shoulders bowing forward. 

“He is dead.” Dorian confirmed. “We found a cook who had worked for Corix. She remembered Nico. He was the Magister’s secretary.”

So far, Fenris was not surprised. Dorian held out the letter. “The woman said that about six years ago, it became obvious the man was not well. He hid his illness from the Magister as long as he could, but it was fatal. The white cough.” 

“Yes. It is common among slaves and the liberati. Apparently, my own mother perished of it as well.” Fenris had seen many people cough until the blood came, staining handkerchiefs as the people tried to struggle on. 

“That is not what your niece’s father died from.” Dorian said softly, closing his eyes. “He… Corix had asked him to wait upon him late one night, but Nico never came.” 

Because a summons to a formidable blood mage’s chambers in the middle of the night was a terrible thing, an almost certain calamity. “The chef remembered him saying he would not leave a legacy of evil in the world. When he did not arrive, Corix send a maid to find him. The poor girl woke everyone with her screaming when she found him.” 

“How did he do it?” Fenris asked, feeling the rising nausea and heated anger. 

“A noose made of sheets.” To his credit, Dorian did not shudder. “The servants dumped him into an unmarked grave.” 

Someday, someone would need to tell Sabina this. She would be a young woman, perhaps, when she learned of how her father died. She would have her mother’s features, her father’s riotous curls, and she would learn that her father had hung himself to avoid fueling blood magic. That he died alone, most likely frightened, and that nothing could have saved him. 

He did not realize his markings were flickering until he saw the flashes reflected in Dorian’s eyes. He pulled back from the man and his sickened, guilty gaze. 

“I swear to you, if I ever return to Tevinter, I will find a way to stop it.” Dorian promised fiercely. “I promise. I refuse to gain from...from this.” 

“It will not bring him back.” Fenris snarled. It would not bring back Nico or give Sabina her father. It would not save his own father and mother. It would not erase the fear he felt, sometimes, when he looked at his wife’s growing stomach and wondered if his children would find themselves in chains. It would not give Varania back the music he could just faintly remember, the music he thought died in blood and pain. 

“I know.” It was all Dorian could say, and it  was not enough. He closed his eyes. “I will tell her, if you wish me to.”

“No.” Fenris spat, storming away. He would break Varania’s heart himself, one last time. 

 

He found her on the battlements, tossing flowers off the side with one arm wrapped tightly around Sabina’s waist as the girl leaned over to watch them fall. The giggling adolescent, Rose, he reminded himself, was on her right. When she saw him, the girl squeaked and looked away quickly. 

“Good morning.” He said stiffly, turning his attention to Varania as the girl stared at the ground. 

“Patruus!” Sabina chirped, holding up a fistful of crumbled petals.

The expression his face was enough for Varania’s own expression to darken. She sighed, kissing Sabina’s temple. “What is wrong?” She asked. 

“I have some news from Minrathous you would like to hear.” He said simply. “Can I speak to you alone?” 

“I can take her, milady.” Rose whispered, still as skittish as a startled hare, holding her arms out for Sabina. Varania hesitated only a moment before swiftly untangling herself from Sabina. “Go ahead and head back to the tower. I will be there momentarily.” 

Rose nodded, casting him one last frightened look before quickly vanishing. Varania watched her go, shaking her head in exasperation. “What have you done to her? She is frightened to death of you.” 

“I have done nothing.” He scowled. “She is a silly creature.” 

“Sometimes.” Varania admitted, leaning on the warm stone. “But she is sweet. I do not particularly care what is occurring in Minrathous. I find it difficult to imagine I would ever return.” 

“I do not believe you will.” Fenris leaned on her left, looking out over the tents stretching below them. “It is actually about events that occured in Qarinus.” 

The name of the city caused her to turn, to stare at him suspiciously. “What have you done?” She demanded. 

“I asked the altus to learn what became of Nico.” Fenris admitted quietly. Varania hissed in dismay, straightening.

“Why would you do such a thing?” She demanded, color rising to her cheeks. “Why would you put yourself in such a man’s debt?” 

“Fasta vass, I am in no one’s debt. It is the least he could do if he wishes to see Tevinter redeemed.” Fenris ignored her glare, the way her hands had clenched into fists so tightly he was certain that her nails would leave marks on her skin. 

“I  _ know _ what became of Nico.” She stressed through gritted teeth. “He is dead. Little else matters.” 

“Then think of what you will tell Sabina when she asks.” Fenris reasoned. “When she wishes to know what happened to her father.” 

Varania closed her eyes, as if preparing for a killing blow. “Fine then.” She said, her fists tightening even further. “Tell me how the Magister killed him.” 

“Nico did not allow the Magister to use him for his blood magic, Varania.” Fenris said softly. “He took his own life instead. Shortly after you left Qarinus.” 

Whatever she had expected to hear, it had not been this. Her eyes opened, wide, in shock. Her fists relaxed and her mouth struggled to find the words. “What?” she finally asked, her unclenched hand gripping onto the battlement.

“When the Magister summoned him that evening, Nico did not go. He stated he would not help bring evil into the world. He robbed the Magister of the chance to use him.” The ultimate defiance, perhaps the only one left to the man. A blow to the Magister’s ambitions, a temporary blow, but one nonetheless. And a way for him to take his secret, Varania’s secret and Sabina’s life, to his grave. 

 

_ “Did you ever think about killing yourself?” The abomination asked as they trekked up the Wounded Coast. Fenris, too focused on finding his footing, nearly missed that Anders was speaking to him. He looked up, irritated, meeting Ander’s amber eyes that looked almost soft and kind.  _

_ “I could ask you the same thing.” He snarled back. From ahead of them, he heard Hawke sigh. He caught her exchanging a quick glance with Varric, who looked utterly amused.  _

_ “I’m serious!” Anders protested as they clambered up the sandy paths. “To get out of slavery, to escape Danarius… don’t tell me you never thought about it.”  _

_ “I did not.” Fenris said firmly. “To kill oneself is a sin in the eyes of the Maker.”  _

_ “You…  believe that?” Anders asked skeptically, raising an eyebrow.  _

_ “I try to.” Fenris felt sincerely uncomfortable with the way this conversation was going. There was an uncomfortable degree of empathy in Ander’s eyes. “Some things must be worse that slavery.”  _

_ There was silence after that remark as Anders appeared to consider it before he sighed, shoulders collapsing in on themselves. “Some things are worse than death.”  _

_ Fenris had nothing else to say. Hawke was humming off key ahead of them, a song that was...almost familiar, although he couldn’t say why.  _

_ “I’m shocked. That was...civil. Maybe you’re actually a good influence after all.” Varric muttered, looking up at Hawke with something like awe. _

_ “And you haven’t even complained about nature in ten minutes! It’s a day of small miracles.” Hawke beamed sunnily over her shoulder. Fenris felt something in his chest flutter uncertainly, a small and tentative thing, like a bird learning to fly. _

 

Varania lifted one trembling hand to her mouth, covering it. Fenris knew, still, that suicide was a sin in the eyes of the Maker. 

And he knew that Anders had also been right. Some things were worse than death. Dying to fuel the power of a man such as Corix...yes, that would have been worse. Fenris could not think that was a sin. 

Despite the fact that Varania’s lashes were fluttering, she could not blink away the tears. They came faster, more suddenly than the ones she had spilled on Sabina’s fevered forehead as they left Tevinter. These ones could not be hidden. “I am sorry.” Fenris whispered. “I do not know what to say.” 

“Desidero me.” Varania’s voice shook and her eyes fixed on Fenris. “Semper ego desidero. Will the Maker forgive him?” She asked. 

“I don’t know, but I believe so.” At his words, Varania buried her face in her hands and began to sob. Her shoulders shook. He supposed he should have gotten better at comforting people, he had watched Hawke sob and rail many times at the unfairness of the world, at the loss of her mother, when Varric had been taken. Still, he felt awkward when he reached out and gently grasped Varania’s shaking shoulder. 

What shocked him most was that it took only that for her to collapse against his chest, her sobs buried in his tunic among an incoherent babble of Tevene. He wrapped one arm around her back, holding her, as Varania cried for the love she had lost. There had been no funeral, would be no memorial, but this… this outpouring of grief she could have. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Desidero me. Semper ego desidero: I miss him. I will always miss him.


	75. The Exchange

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Arbor Wilds reveals Varania's feelings about many things.

_Those who oppose thee_   
_Shall know the wrath of heaven_   
_Field and forest will burn,_   
_The seas shall rise and devour them,_ _  
_ The wind shall tear their nations

 _From the face of the earth_   
_Lightning shall rain down from the sky_   
_They shall cry out to their false gods,_   
_And find silence._ _  
_ Canticle of Andraste 7:19

 

“At first light, the troops will make the push to clear a path to the temple. The red templars and Venatori are already bogged down in fighting.” This pulled Varania’s attention to the Commander. Cullen was examining a map critically.

“I’m sorry. Who are they fighting?” Varania asked, tucking a piece of stray hair behind her ear. First light was not far away. She could already hear the movement of the camp readying itself, troops aligning. She was examining and sorting her poultices by the fire while the Commander attempted to use the weak light to read his map.

“Maker knows. They appear to be elves, perhaps protecting the temple. We thought Dalish at first, but they’re no Dalish like I’ve ever seen.” Cullen muttered. “They’ve slowed down the enemy forces, at any rate, and given us a much better position than we thought to be in.”

“But you will have to fight them.” Varania pointed out.

“I hope not. The Inquisitor can be quite persuasive and she doesn’t particularly desire anything in the temple for the Inquisition, she just wants to stop Corypheus from obtaining it. In this, those elves could very well be our allies.” Cullen glanced over at her neat row of poultices. “Do you have what you need?”

“Yes.” Varania answered simply, nodding to herself. She had checked everything herself at least three times. “The best of the healers will stay back here, but we will have teams that are able to go to the front lines and extract wounded. I will oversee them myself.”

“May the Maker watch over them and you.” The Commander said, rolling up his map and tightening his jaw. “I must find Grand Enchanter Fiona and see to her warriors.”

Varania did not look up from her poultices. Different ones for burns or poisons. Ones to prevent infection, ones to take away pain. These she had, for the most part, learned in the munera. She remembered prioritizing the wounded after the fights, deciding which of the fighters needed her magic, which she could palm off with a poultice or potion. It was brutal battlefield triage most of the time, which made her immensely well suited to this.

“You look very far away.” Solas said from beside her. He had joined her to help with this, listened to her instructions carefully when she explained which potions needed to be bundled with which poultices.

“I learned to do this as a teenager.” She admitted. “And I put it away for years to raise a child, but now I am back and my hands remember what to do.” It bothered her, that these hands that had cradled her baby could so easily remember how to grip a sword, how to look at a man and know if his wounds were worth expending valuable mana.

“I was told once, long ago, that our muscles and blood never forget what we have trained them to do.” The other elf said softly. “That our bodies will always remember what we were before and we pass those memories onto our children in our blood.”

“I hope that is not completely true.” Varania muttered, setting aside another stack of poultices. “I would prefer Sabina not be haunted by my mistakes.”

Solas said something, a stream of Elvish that Varania did not know. She looked up at him, raising an eyebrow. He sighed.

“Ir abelas.” He muttered. “I sometimes forget which tongue slips from my mouth.”

“I can understand that.” Varania began to stand, dusting the dirt from her breeches. “Sometimes I do not know what tongue is coming out of my mouth either.”

“I should like to teach your daughter some words of our people.” Solas did not look up from his work. “I feel she should know some.”

“I am not sure they are our people, but I do not mind.” Varania shrugged. “She already babbles in two languages. A third could not hurt.”

“They are not who you come from?” Solas asked, looking up. Varania sighed.

“I come from slaves and my daughter is free.” She picked up her poultices and nodded curtly. “My people are my family, now. That is enough.”

She ignored his wide, sad eyes following her.

 

She had delayed until the last moment and she could not explain satisfactorily why she did so. By the time she was finally ready to find Thom, she was half worried she would be unable to do so. There was the faintest smidge of pink dotting the horizon. It would not be long now before battle begun.

She shouldn’t have worried, however, because he found her.

“Do you have everything you need?” He asked, ducking his head to her level as he approached. “There’s still time to ready things.”

“We are as ready as we will ever be.” Varania assured him. “Will you be with the Inquisitor?”

“Yes.” He nodded, reaching up to stroke his beard. A nervous habit, she had realized. “Straight to the temple. We’ll all be with her.”

All of them meant her inner circle. Vivienne, Solas, Dorian, Thom, Cassandra, the Iron Bull, Cole, Sera, and of course Varric. A veritable battering ram of the Inquisition’s most powerful. She was proud that he was a part of this group and reassured. It was hard to imagine anything overpowering the massive Qunari.

“Morrigan is coming as well, since she has an idea of what we’ll run into at this temple.” Thom continued. “With any luck, we’ll be in and out of her within the day.”

“Is it ever so easy?” Varania asked, leaning against the supply cart and crossing her arms over her chest with an amused and skeptical expression. Thom chuckled.

“Hardly ever, but sometimes.” He offered. “Will you walk with me for a moment?”

She dipped her head in acquiescence and took his offered arm. It was different to have her hands rest on cold metal instead of soft cotton, but beyond that they could have been walking Skyhold. There were so many of the same faces there. “Will we win?” She asked simply.

“If they thought to break her by targeting her family, it was a mistake. She’s furious and determined to make them pay, but she hasn’t let it make her stupid.” Thom murmured. “There will be casualties, there always are, but I think we will win.”  

His confidence was almost boyish. She couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at her lips. They were approaching the supply caravans, mostly abandoned for now except for a small rear guard. “I have something for you.” The words were out of her mouth before she could continue to chew them over. “A gift.” She clarified at his puzzled look.

He looked taken aback, then smiled almost shyly. “I have a gift for you as well. Shall I go first?”

“I do not need anything.” Varania protested as he reached towards his belt.

“Well, this is yours.” Thom pulled a piece of paper from his belt, one so familiar she felt her stomach lurch.

“I told you…” Varania began hotly.

“It is not for me to keep or destroy. You should do it, my lady.” Thom said seriously, pushing it into her hand. “You don’t need this, not for a moment longer, but you need to be the one to let it go.”

“So you kept it? The whole way from Val Royeaux?” She asked, feeling the worn parchment under her fingers.

“I had resolved to take it to my grave if it was all of you I had left and let your past be buried with mine.” He said slowly. “Until the Inquisitor intervened.”

“I am glad she did.” Varania stuck her chin out in defiance. Blackwall smiled.

“Don’t tell her, but so am I.” His tone was as warm as spiced ale. “That isn’t actually what I had for you, though.”

“I’d hope not. It is a terrible gift.” She remarked with a wry twist of her lips.

“I hope this is more to your liking, milady.” Thom teased, holding out his gauntleted hand. In his grip was a comb, something silly and pretty to fix in your hair for decoration. It was made of gleaming golden wood, the forks of the comb tapering elegantly into the body of a dragon, coiled and ready to spring, an egg coiled in its tail protectively.

“Oh.” There was nothing else she could say, looking at the elegant and precise carving. “Est pulchra. Beautiful. Did you make this?” She asked.

“I did. If you don’t like it, I can make something different.” He said hastily.

“No!” She cried out, a small and delighted bubble rising in her throat. “It is one of the most beautiful gifts I’ve ever received.”

Her delight was reflected in his face as he handed it to her. The wood was smooth under her fingers. “I cannot wear it now, I will worry too much about losing it.”

“Later, then.” He said simply as she tucked it away. “After.”

“After.” She repeated. “Take your gauntlet off.”

He raised an eyebrow in confusion, but his hand was already at the fastenings she could not even see, skillfully undoing them. Varania reached into the pocket of her breeches, pulling the bit of leather and metal.

She had thought of the idea the night she’d decided to follow the army. It was a simple thing, two leather cords tied in a lover’s knot with a simple metal clasp. She’d seen them often in Tevinter, given by slaves and liberati to each other because they were cheap and simple to make. Varania had dreamed of making one, wearing one, as a girl. Then, as a woman, it had been too dangerous to risk anyone learning of Nico and her. There had been no one else she had considered worthy of her other lovers.

Nobody else she _loved_.

It was no red ribbon, but Varania was still too cautious to fly a bright red ribbon. Perhaps someday, but not today. Her fingers were surprisingly steady as she wrapped the cord around his thick wrist. She was able to mentally praise herself for getting the size right as it clasped perfectly.

“It is… I know that…” She stuttered, suddenly nervous and girlish.

“It’s a lover’s knot, my lady.” His voice was pitched low, but she could feel it in her very bones. “Clever. I’ve never seen it made into a bracelet.”

“In Minrathous, it was a silly tradition. For children, mostly.” She clarified. She was talking entirely too much.

“I’ll treasure it.” He reassured with that terrible fondness in his eyes that was terrifying and exhilarating.

“I promised once I’d never… that Sabina’s father would be my last. My only.” She closed her eyes. “Perhaps it should not, but this feels like a betrayal of him.”

“It speaks well of him. And you.” Thom said softly. Varania could not speak past the lump in her throat. “Would he wish you to spend the rest of your life mourning him?”

“No.” She answered. She could feel the energy shifting in the camp around them, and she heard someone shout “Rainier!” from far away. Even with her eyes closed, she could feel him stiffen. She took a deep breath, opened her eyes and slowly pressed her own hand against his chest. The motion caused her sleeve to slide up higher, revealing her own leather bracelet knotted around her wrist. A match for his.

“Bene, nunc vade.” She muttered softly. He raised an eyebrow and she couldn’t help her small smile.

“My lady?” He questioned.

“Varania.” She corrected, standing on tiptoe. He leaned down towards her, allowing her to slip to the side and gently, sweetly place a kiss on his cheek. There was a catch in his breath when he inhaled and she could smell soap, a sharp tang of sweat, oiled leather and straw.

Behind Thom someone giggled. The blonde elf with the messy haircut, her bow lazily dangling from her fingertips. “I’m telling!” She shouted, turning on her heel and taking off. Thom’s muffle oath followed her.  

“You best catch her.” Varania advised, pulling away.

“I’ll want a proper kiss now, if I have to deal with her teasing regardless.” Thom’s eyes were dancing with humor and a mild heat, focused entirely on her. Varania shrugged effortlessly.

“That.” She began primly. “Is incentive for you to not get yourself killed.”

“The best incentive I’ve ever had.” He agreed with a chuckle, taking a step back and catching her hand as it slipped from his chest, bringing it to his lips.

“Be safe, Varania.” He whispered, kissing her skin and withdrawing toward battle.

Varania watched him go, uncertain whether she should feel elated, guilty, or terrified. Instead she looked down at the paper in her hands, her freedom. She could make out more of the letters now, more than she ever could before. She took a deep breath and ignited her fingers, watched the paper catch fire, shrivel, and fall to ashes at her feet.

 

When the smoke cleared, Varania had several firsts to list to herself. First, she had seen what she was relatively certain was an archdemon. It had flown over the battle and one of the mages had cried that it was to be Haven all over again, but beyond several bursts of red-lyrium tinted flame, it had circled the temple like an exuberant guard dog.

Then, it had vanished. As suddenly as it had appeared. And with it, the red templars and venatori scattered to the winds, routed, chased by Inquisition soldiers. Varania was covered in blood, mostly that of a group of Venatori that had attempted to attack the healers. She was trying, and failing, to ignore the discomfort as it dried.

“They’re requesting a healer at the temple, Ser.” A scout reported with a sharp salute. “Yourself, if you can be spared. They have an injured enemy combatant with potential information. He’s got the red lyrium sickness.”

“Go.” Eldar directed with a grit of his teeth, twisting a splintered bone back into place as a young woman whimpered. “We can stitch wounds and set bones on our own, thanks to you.”

Varania nodded, picking up her own bag as she stood. “If the sickness is advanced, I will not be able to save him regardless of Reyna’s research. I will only be able to prolong his life.”

“We know, Ser.” The scout said, falling into pace just slightly in front of Varania. “He has other injuries as well, they are more severe than the red lyrium sickness right now.”

“I have not seen the Inquisitor’s party.” Varania stated. “Are they within the temple?”

“Some of them, Ser.” The scout continued levely. “Most of the Inquisitor’s companions stayed outside the temple to hold the line, the Inquisitor collapsed the entrance after her.”

The scout pointed to the temple on the edge of the clearing they’d emerged into. She could clearly see where an entranceway had been collapsed, the rubble now cleared and sitting to the side. “When we got into the temple after the enemy forces began their retreat and the dragon took off, well, the Inquisitor and her companions are missing.”

“Missing?” Varania echoed. The scout’s frown deepened.

“Hence why we need a healer. Perhaps he saw where they went.” She scowled at the temple. “It’s a bloody mess in there, Ser. Bodies everywhere. Elves, templars, grey wardens…” Varania’s heart stuttered. “A bloody massacre.”

“Which companions went with the Inquisitor?” Practice hiding her emotions for twenty years had been it too easy to slip the mask of cool indifference over her face.

“Master Tethras, Messere Solas, and Seeker Pentaghast.” The scout answered. “The rest of them are in the temple looking for evidence with Commander Rutherford.”

Such a small group, and Thom not in it. Varania could not be glad that the Inquisitor herself was missing, but she could not find it in herself to reject the cool relief.

“Varania!” Vivienne was gliding down the temple stairs, face impassive and elegant. “My dear, thank you for coming. We’ve done what we can with potions, but it has not been enough to restore him to consciousness. It is imperative he be questioned, there are too many unknowns for my liking.”

Varania suspected there were far too many unknowns in life for Vivienne’s liking, but she said nothing. Instead, she allowed Vivienne to guide her into the temple, past looming statues of wolves.

“It appears our Inquisitor took a more roundabout journey through the temple, although why I cannot imagine. It is simple enough to jump down here.” Vivienne sniffed, gesturing to a gaping chasm in the ground. “Dorian, my dear, are you still down there?”

“Ah, yes! You’ve returned. Here I thought we were running on an Orlesian schedule.” The man mocked from below. “Please te:ll me you’ve brought Varania. If you haven’t, I may have more luck raising the man as a corpse here soon.”

“Unless your corpses have become as talkative as you, that would hardly be helpful.” Vivienne smirked as she leaped lightly from the ledge, landing on the lower level six feet down. Varania took a deep breath and followed.

Dorian was holding an arrow, ripped from the throat of a red templar, staring at the green feathers at the end of it with something naked and vulnerable in his face. If Varania did not know better, she would say it was fear.

“We will find her.” Vivienne said simply. “Or she will find us. Has she failed you yet, Dorian?”

“Not yet.” Dorian murmured, dropping the arrow. “But I am highly suspicious she’ll break my heart one day regardless.”

Silently, Varania followed the other two mages through the twisting labyrinth full of corpses. Many were littered with arrows, green fletched, and crossbow bolts. Some showed unmistakable signs of magic, burned to a crisp or shattered to pieces. Several were missing limbs or had strong signs of their skulls being bashed.

“It is certainly not hard to follow their trail.” Varania spoke aloud to herself.

“Wait until you see where we’re going.” Dorian muttered.

When the emerged into the beautiful courtyard, Varania at first felt a strange, sad peace settle over her. There was magic in this place, old magic. Most of the area was doused in water, as if a geyser had erupted from the empty pool and scattered it everywhere. Even the bodies were soaked through.

“Varania.” Her name was a sigh and a prayer. Thom had stood from where he crouched over an elven body. “It is good to see you.” He was covered in soot, his helmet under his arm, sweat running from his temples and a new dent in his breastplate. Unharmed, it appeared. He was sweeping her own bloodstained form in concern.

“It is not mine.” She stated. She did not miss his smile.

“Of course it isn’t.” He stated, inclining his head. “Are you ready to meet Corypheus’s general?”

“That is who you wish to save?” She asked incredulously, following his gaze to the man laying on the ground. Commander Rutherford as kneeling beside him, shaking his head.

“I wouldn’t ask you to try if there was any other choice.” The Commander stood. “This man deserves to die, but it would honestly be as much a mercy to let him die as it would be justice.”

“The song is all wrong. I can’t hear her over it.” Cole was rocking back and forth on top of a broken statue. “I can always hear her. Where did she go?”

“We’ll find her, creepy.” Sera said with a pointed glare. “Patch him up and make him talk.”

Varania approached the injured man with trepidation. Even without examining him, she could tell it was bad. The red lyrium corruption was so far advanced, she couldn’t believe he was still alive at all. Then there was the brutal injuries. Just from looking, she could see an arrow embedded in his jugular, if it were removed he would almost certainly bleed out. His skull had to be cracked judging by the blood running over his face. At some point during the fight, he had lost a piece of his armor, the gauntlet. There was a deep stab wound in his hand and scratches on his arm. She could smell burned skin and suspected that at least part of him had been roasted inside his armor.

“Can you?” The Commander asked levely.

No, her gut said. Varania rubbed her forehead. “I am unsure. His injuries are...severe. His health has already been compromised by the red lyrium. It would take more mana than I possess to save him.”

“We have lyrium potions still.” The Commander said. Varania was already shaking her head.

“No. Anyone who healed him would not be able to risk ingesting lyrium while doing so or immediately before. It increases the risk the corruption would spread.” It was the one thing Reyna was completely certain of, she had watched it. She said the red lyrium burned through normal lyrium at a speed that was remarkable and there was little chance to stop it.

“We can pool our mana.” Vivienne said simply. “And chanel it through you.”

Varania was not the only one that turned and looked at Vivienne like she had gone mad. Dorian had been in the middle of taking a drink from a waterskin and had nearly spat it out. “You cannot be serious.” Varania said.

“It is only a simple matter…”

“I don’t understand.” Thom interrupted. “Share your mana?”

“Through physical contact, a mage can lend their mana to another. We did it in the circle all the time.” Vivienne was looking at both Varania and Dorian like they were mad. Varania could feel heat rising up her cheeks.

“It is as intimate as having sex!” She blurted out. This caused everyone to turn and stare at her besides Dorian, who looked very much as if she agreed. Vivienne’s brow furrowed.

“Well, it certainly can be if it is not controlled properly.” She said slowly. “Is this not a practice you are familiar with, my dear? Surely, Dorian…”

“I am _exceedingly_ familiar with it. It is a starring feature in some  of the best Tevinter parties. We typically add it to the overindulgence in alcohol and general revels of Satinalia. Right before the orgy starts.” Dorian was blushing as well.

“Oh for the love of the Maker.” Vivienne sounded quite cross. “You twist the very elements, meld creation to your will, and the mages of Tevinter use it as a prelude to intercourse?”

“When in Minrathous.” Dorian said weakly. “Perhaps we should break out the good wine and some excellent cheeses and chat first.”

Varania nearly laughed, and if she did it would have been tinged with hysteria. Instead she continued to stare at Vivienne as the woman tried to manage her ruffled feathers.

“I would like to hear a bit more about this process before anyone goes through with anything.” Thom said sternly.

“Especially if it involves the steamy bits.” Sera remarked snidely from behind him.

“During the process of sharing mana, sensations, memories, feelings...these can also be exchanged. It is more easy to share than to control, but a mage who is invested in learning to  control it can do so if they are taught.” Vivienne smoothed her sleeves down. “It appears control of this nature is not valued in Tevinter.”

“We are an inventive and passionate people.” Dorian defended. Varania fought the urge to hide her face.

“I will not…” She protested. “I cannot…”

“We will leave Dorian out of it.” Vivienne declared. “Hopefully two will be enough. I can hold the connection my dear and control any output from my end. If you focus only on healing his wounds, it should hold your attention enough to prevent the flow backwards into me.”

“I was actually kind of looking forward to watching.” The Iron Bull sounded almost forlorn. “Are all mages so hedonistic, are just the ones from Tevinter?”

“I am not…” Varania wanted to flee. Vivienne was kneeling beside her, careless of the blood and gore.

“Ignore them. It is in all men’s natures to be salacious.” Vivienne very softly laid her hand on Varania’s shoulder. “Whenever you are ready, darling.”

She wasn’t sure when she would be ready, but she took a deep breath and nodded anyway.

 

_“Have you never done it?” The other elven girl teased, her eyes shining with mischief. “I’d be more than happy to show you…”_

_She was pretty, and funny, and Varania was so achingly lonely as they watched the fighters spar in the Munera. “It’ll be fun…”_

 

“Focus, darling.” Vivienne drawled. “Dying man.”

Varania pulled herself back, away from the cool feeling of magic running down her spine, focused on her hands, and began.

It was more of a wreck than she thought it would be. Blood vessels twisted, poison coursing through his veins, the weird shattered song splintering through her mana, a whisper in the dark that made her hand stand on end as she tried to force new skin to grow, when she removed the arrow and tried to form scar tissue over it. His own poisoned body seemed to be fighting her attempts. There was a thin sheen of sweat on her brow…

 

_The candle lit like a beacon and illuminated the elderly man’s face, smiling kindly down at her. Warm, safe, I’ll never be hungry again…_

 

“I’m  sorry, my dear.” Vivienne’s voice was tight. “Continue.”

“I am taking too much.” Varania protested, raising her hand up to remove the woman’s palm from her shoulder.

 

_“It is too much.” Varania begged as the blood flowed down her arms. I will die, I will die. He will kill me and Leto…_

 

Vivienne did not manage to hide the hiss of dismay. Her grip tightened on Varania’s shoulder. “You are fine, my dear. You won’t take too much, continue.”

She hesitated, and Vivienne’s other hand pushed Varania’s palm back onto the man. Varania took another breath, and continued. But she could feel Vivienne’s control weakening as she pushed. The woman had been fighting as fiercely as any of the other’s, her mana already drained. A fear, of the future, of becoming that which she had glimpsed so briefly in Varania’s mind.

 

_His hand was cold and he was gone, his eyes closed. Grief made it hard to swallow. “Vivienne.” The Inquisitor’s hand, warm on my elbow. “I am so sorry, Viv. I…” A fierce rush of affection. Do not be sorry, my friend, you who tried so hard to help me._

 

Vivienne’s hand fell away and she reeled back, almost faint. Varania felt lightheaded too, but the Commander had rushed forward to catch Vivienne. “I am sorry...I have no more to give.” Vivienne whispered, rubbing her forehead. Varania felt strangely hollowed out, her own remaining mana dwindling as she continued to pour.

“Stop, you’ll hurt yourself.” Dorian was beside her, not touching her but staring at her. “Fasta vass, let me give you the rest.”

“No.” She shook her head, shaking the black spots dotting her vision.

“You cannot do it alone.” Dorian argued. His hands were curled into fists. “Please, we have to find her. Let me help.”

“No.” She said again, a bit louder. Dorian cursed.

“I am _begging_ you.” Dorian whispered softly. “She is… this is the only chance we have to find her. She is my best friend. Please. You owe this to her just as much as I do.”

Varania did, it was an uneasy feeling in her stomach. Without the Inquisition, Sabina would have died. They were safe in Skyhold, secure. No Magister’s greedy hands would ever curl around them again. More than that, they were a part of something. Something magnificent.

Fenris had trusted this man to find out what happened to Nico, and he had. He had attached no price to it, he simply had.

Varania could not make herself say yes, but she nodded. The altus nearly slumped in relief before he lightly pressed his hand on her other shoulder. “I will try to control it.” He promised.

Vivienne’s touch had been cooling. His was warm, running down her spine like a strong drink. She tried not to shudder, not to pull away as she turned back to the body in front of her.

 

_Hands wrapped around a glass, empty. Can feel his eyes on me and I’m not going home, fasta vass, I can never go home. Maria, her hand closes over mine and she is smiling sadly. Eyes, grey, silver, like the sky over the coast. “He wishes I wasn’t his son.”_

_“Well, I guess I’m your father now, then.” She says with her easy smile, tugging him off his stool. “C’mon son.” She whispers, teases. “Let’s go home.”_

_A promise, a promise, silent and sure. Yes, I’m your man through and through. I’d stay with you forever, no matter what._

 

He loved her. Not romantic, but the intensity of it startled her. Yes… it was nearly as she felt for Fenris. She was his family. “I’m sorry.” He muttered, squeezing his eyes shut.

 

_I’m sorry. The word stuck in her mouth as she flees the destroyed bar. I am sorry for it all, I am sorry for what they did to you. I am sorry it is my fault. I am sorry. There is blood on her hands and no matter how she washes them, they will not come clean. Betrayer. Monster._

 

_Traitor. His father whispers the word. You are no son of mine. It pierces his heart._

 

_Striga. Her mother’s last word, choked with hate and bitterness. She cannot breathe in the apartment, she cannot breathe at all. I would change, she thinks, I would have changed if it would have made you happy._

 

_You tried to change me, he roars. He cannot get away from the stench of blood magic. He cannot stand the sight of it. He needs to escape, needs to flee. Anything, anywhere._

 

_Sabina’s arms are stretched wide on the battlements, as if she could fly right off and she will never be caught, never be in chains. She is strong and good  and…_

 

_You’re a good man, Dorian. The feel of his scarred skin, one eye glimmering with emotions. I love you._

 

_You know I am ruined she whispers to Nico. You know what he did to me. They are hiding in the market, and it was so good to see him and so frightening. I love you, Nico whispers. Nothing they could do would ruin you. I love you. I love you. A cord on Thom’s wrist and Varania wants, needs…_

 

She cried out when Dorian snatched his hand away. Her head was pounding, her heart racing, and she could taste blood. Below her, the man that was Corypheus’s general stirred, opening narrow eyes to peer up at her. Varania’s trembling hand touched her face, her nose, her fingers came away stained with blood. Dorian’s body hit the ground next to her and people were scrambling. She heard her name, far away, an echo.

Then there was nothing but blackness.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *est pulchra: It is lovely.
> 
> *bene, nunc vade: well, here we go


	76. The Red Stuff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Inquisition saves the Well of Sorrows. The trip back to Skyhold is derailed by the red stuff.

_ And as the black clouds came upon them, _

_ They looked at what pride had wrought _

_ And despaired.  _

_ Canticle of Threnonides 7:10 _

 

He could have cut the tension with a knife. Solas, looking frankly murderous as they fought their way through an ancient Elven temple, Cassandra looking more and more disgusted at each red templar and elven corpse they stepped over, covered in blood from head to foot, and Maria…

Maria was down to scavenging as many of her arrows as she could, pulling the salvageable ones from bodies. She had been getting steadily more creative with her cursing throughout this entire debacle, particularly since Morrigan had taken the wing, so to speak. She had looked pointedly at Cassandra and ground out one sentence. “Not a  _ fucking _ word about not trusting her. Not a damn one or I  _ swear _ .” 

She hadn’t finished the threat and had grown deadly silent beyond her inventive cursing. 

“You never take me anywhere nice.” Varric finally drawled as they pushed open another door. It was difficult to get open, due to the fully armored templar sitting behind it with his throat slit. 

“I thought the Fade had a certain charm to it.” She muttered darkly. She took two steps into the room, then held out her arm. “Wait. Does anyone else feel that?” 

“Yes.” Solas said at the same time Cassandra said “No.” Varric, for his part, didn’t feel anything beyond grimy and sore. He could, however, hear something. The sound of voices, one of whom sounded distinctly familiar and made him want to grasp his money pouch a bit tighter…

“Please tell me you brought Dagna’s talisman.” Varric begged. 

Maria tapped her waist, the pocket in her leather armor where he suspected she was keeping it. “Now we just need to pray it works. Because, you know, things work for us so often.” 

“The Maker will guide us.” Cassandra stated simply. Varric didn’t miss the impatient and bitter expression that crossed Maria’s face. 

“Inquisitor, do not let vengeance make you rash.” Solas cautioned. A wise thing to say, but a little late. Maria had fought like a demon herself the whole way through the Arbor Wilds, a trail of dead in her wake. She was brutal, efficient, frightening. No longer a woman, barely even the Herald of Andraste, but the will of a Maker that would punish and destroy. She was capable of scorching all of Thedas in her fury. 

Her grey eyes burned like amber ones had, not so long ago. He’d looked one day, out of the blue, and saw the fire and fury become an inferno in Anders. He was terrified he’d look up, and see it had consumed Maria. 

“Solas. When have I ever done anything rash?” She asked too innocently. Solas didn’t even have time to sigh wearily before Maria dashed down the steps and around the corner. 

“The chantry never knew what it was throwing away!” He heard someone declare before he slipped around behind Maria, facing down four red templars and Samson.

“I think they had an idea.” Maria drawled impassively, a bloody arrow already notched and pointed at the templars. 

“The so-called Inquisitor.” Samson sneered. “You’ve been chasing us through half of Thedas. Should have known you’d follow us into this hole.” 

Maria didn’t move, eyes fastened on Samson. “I met your Tranquil, Maddox. He’s dead.” 

“You killed him, I assume. Poor bastard.” Samson dropped his eyes. Varric could almost see the tension vibrating from Maria. 

“I don’t make a habit of killing the innocent and defenseless, turns out I’m not made out of the same stuff as the templars.” Her voice was layered with menace. “Maddox killed himself to help your sorry ass. What a waste.” 

“Corypheus chose me twice. Once to be his general, and now as his vessel. I will carry its power to Corypheus, fortified by this armor and the lyrium. He’ll be unstoppable, he won’t need your ruined mark to breach the fade.” Samson gloated. Varric couldn’t miss the dangerous curl to Maria’s lip. Like a cat sizing up prey, like a shark scenting blood. 

“He’s not getting the well.” She declared imperiously, as if she wasn’t covered in blood and gore. As if it was obvious. “All you can do is stand there and slow me down.” 

She wanted this fight. She needed it with a bloodthirsty viciousness. The same way Hawke had needed to cut down every blood mage after Leandra Hawke died. Had needed to do it for months. The same way Fenris still delighted in every slaver’s gaping chest. 

“You dare say that to my face! After we’ve butchered your Inquisition soldiers?” Samson asked, grinning madly. “After that gift my men left you in the Free Marches?” 

The arrow flew from her bow, bouncing uselessly off the armor he wore as Maria’s suddenly free hand dived into her pocket. Samson roared, red lyrium energy buzzing around him, his armor glowing. 

“This is the power the chantry tried to bind! With this armor, with this power… it’s a new world now. With a new God.” He stepped forward menacingly, teeth sharp in a wide smile. “So, Inquisitor, how will this go?” 

“A lot faster once I break that armor, I wager.” And with that, her mark glowed. 

It hadn’t always been Maria’s mark, the author in him whispered as the resulting magic triggered Dagna’s enchantment and sent Samson flying. Once, it had been “the mark” and sometimes even “Andraste’s mark,” but never Maria’s. Those were the early days, the days of Haven and snow. The days when the worst thing to worry about were the innocent people trapped between the mages and templars. That was when her survival at the conclave had been the most miraculous thing about her. Before she brought the world to its knees as simply as she brought Samson to his. The man collapsed, howling, eyes red and vicious on Maria as she dropped the used token at her feet. 

Varric remembered that the most dangerous animal was a wounded one. With a bellow, Samson charged forward. Maria rolled out of the way and Cassandra shoved her shield forward. Then, it was just another in a long line of battles, Bianca’s weight firm in his hands. Solas casting barriers over all of them and Maria’s arrows whistling and thudding with dangerous accuracy.

It would be easier to concentrate on his own ass if the damned Inquisitor would stop being so reckless. Normally, it was good enough to cede Maria the high ground and let her do her work. From a perch, she could pick off damn near any enemy. That wasn’t good enough today, apparently. She needed to be in the thick of it, constantly ducking under the templars, twisting just beyond flashing blades and shields. Too close, entirely too close and…

The blow to his head damn near floored him. He had just enough of his wits to appreciate it could have been far worse, most likely would have been if the barrier Solas had cast hadn’t taken a good portion of the blow. The sound still echoed dully as he watched the templar’s sword arm begin to come down, stopped only by an arrow thudding into perfect place between the joints of the armor, causing the man to stagger and swear. 

“Help Varric!” Maria ordered and Cassandra broke off from her opponent, which left…

Samson’s right arm was smoking as he staggered forward, the result of Solas’s fireball. Still, he was upright and Maria didn’t see him on her left, she was too focused on landing another perfect arrow at a templar threatening Solas. The man’s red gauntlets dug into Maria’s shoulders, tossing her back against the crumbling temple wall like a doll. Varric’s shout was mangled, an incoherent cry as Samson’s bare hand, flesh blistered and burning, circled Maria’s throat and dragged her upwards. Bow and arrow dropped at Maria’s feet, Solas casting spells at the templar that was still too close to him, Cassandra heading the damn wrong direction. 

But there was a flash of silver in Maria’s hand, a knife blade sinking into the back of Samson’s hand, his roar of pain as he reared back, trying to pull the blade from his hand. A force spell from Solas throwing him to the ground and Maria had her arrow in her hand, the sharp tip pushing into Samson’s neck as she straddled his struggling form, digging in deeper, blood running down the man’s neck, over her fingers, until finally the man stopped struggling and fell limp. Still, Maria pushed….

The last templars were down and Varric was beside her. “Stop.” He hissed, grabbing her wrist. “Stop, it’s over. You’re better than this.” 

“Let go of me!” She demanded, attempting to wrench her wrist free. Varric held fast. Maria looked up at him, eyes storm tossed and tears glistening in them. She looked younger when she was on the verge of tears, he’d noticed it days ago. Even blood stained, even with her hair slick with sweat and grime, she was beautiful. 

“My grandmother is dead!” It was the first time she had said it. “They  _ murdered _ her! This isn’t enough! I didn’t…” 

She didn’t save her. Varric doesn’t want to hear it because it’s true and false at the same time. Instead, he pulled her off the lifeless body, brought her to his chest and buried his gloved fingers in her red hair. He kissed her forehead, the tang of sweat and Maker knows what else. “It’s over.” He whispered. 

“Not yet.” Maria whispered, disentangling herself. Varric could feel the red lyrium song buzzing in his damned teeth. He spared a moment to glare at the bodies around him. A waste, a damned waste. When he closed his eyes, he could picture Zarra Cadash with her head tipped to the side, eyes flashing like a falcon. He wished he would have thought to ask her family how they’d brought her back to reason after Hercinia. He’d been stupid not to think he wouldn’t need the information. 

But Varric knew it was easier to heal, too, when you were young. The older you got, the more the foundation crumbled, the harder the blows hit. 

 

And then, of course, she is asked to do something else. They are staring at a well holding… Maker knows what. Maria, arguing more and more weakly, that they had accomplished what they had come here to do. Corypheus didn’t have the well, but she was being worn down. 

It may be too much for a mortal to comprehend, that’s what the elf says. Morrigan is eager, and that’s concerning all on its own. 

“Solas…” Maria turned on her heel, eyes searching, pleading. Solas withdraws from her beseeching gaze, almost flinching. His eyes sink to the ground. “I cannot. Do not ask me again.” He whispered. “Do not do this, Maria.” 

_ Maria _ . Even among her friends, she was hardly ever Maria. Cadash, most frequently, sometimes playful versions of Inquisitor. Cullen had called her Maria in Haven when he was certain they weren’t going to make it out. In the fade, Dorian had called it when he’d refused to slit her damn throat. And now…

“If Solas isn’t willing to do this and he’s all about ancient elves, I really think we should reconsider destroying it.” Varric protested. Maria looked of a mind to agree with him. 

“If it cannot be destroyed, then do we truly trust the apostate with this knowledge?” Cassandra asked, running her hand through her short, messy hair. Damp with sweat, sticking up in all sorts of odd angles. Varric couldn’t even find it in his heart to make fun of her. 

“I am the most qualified!” Morrigan shouted. “Inquisitor, you must see…” 

Maria rubbed her shoulder, her fingers coming away sticky with blood. Probably hers, Varric winced. Samson had grabbed her hard. Varric reached out, his fingers grazing hers, the blood coating his gloves like it had coated hers. She looked at him, lost. 

“I’ve never asked you to stop.” Varric whispered. “I know you can’t.” 

She frowned, looking away from him and back to the well. There was a furrow deep in her brow as she thought. Varric had fallen in love with the damned Inquisitor and he had only himself to blame. She would never be able to stop, never be able to turn her back on the people that followed her. If she survived Corypheus, there would be someone else. Something else. 

More to the point, Varric suspected she needed this. Maybe she hadn’t, not at first. She wasn’t the same woman who had gone to Haven. She’d been put in charge and she had taken the opportunity to change the world into something different. Something… kinder. 

“Look at what you’ve built, Maria.” He laced his fingers with hers, even as she continued to stare at the well. “They’re not out there fighting for the Maker or Andraste. They’re fighting for  _ you _ . They believe in  _ you _ .” I believe in you, he thought desperately. 

“Don’t I owe it to them, then?” She asked quietly. “To take this risk?” 

“The only thing you owe them is to keep going. The only thing you owe them is to keep fighting. If you do this… if it goes bad… who will keep this up? What will happen to all those mages? The rest of the templars who didn’t go nuts? What about all those refugees you’re feeding? The towns you’re rebuilding?” He questioned, fingers tightening over hers. “If something happens to you Maria… we couldn’t do it without you.” 

“I think you’d tell me anything to stop me from doing this.” Maria challenged, eyes flashing when she turned back to him. “Because  _ you _ can’t bear the thought of anything happening to me. I can’t just think of you, Varric.” 

“Damn right I will.” Varric growled the words. “But that doesn’t mean I’m wrong. If you need the damn well, take it. But Morrigan is  _ volunteering _ , Princess. Don’t be a noble idiot this time. Don’t break my heart if you don’t fucking have to.” 

He was begging, he knew it. He hated it, hated laying his heart bare while they were covered in blood and guts and Andraste’s ass, who knew what else. There were other words that needed said too. He needed to forgive her for Starkhaven, for Sebastian and the mess she’d made while trying to help. He needed to apologize because he should have been with her when she got the news, not Dorian. If he wasn’t such a stubborn asshole, he’d have been there. He needed to tell her that even though he’d slept in his own tent the whole damn march down to the Arbor Wilds so she could have the space to grieve that she needed, she was never far from his thoughts.

Instead, all he could do was beg her to keep herself safe. Just this once, so they could have the time they needed to heal. 

She tore her eyes from the well and met his eyes instead. He could see himself reflected back in them, looking a damn mess with a suspicious bruise forming on his cheek. Frightening enough to cause small children to run screaming, he was sure. Maria’s nod was almost non-existent, but he felt her squeeze his fingers weakly. 

“Morrigan.” Maria whispered, not looking away from Varric. His shoulders collapsed in relief as Morrigan strode to the well before anyone could change their mind. 

“I hope you don’t regret this, Inquisitor.” Cassandra sighed. 

“Me too.” Maria’s free hand was back at her shoulder, wincing at the wound there. “Samson’s damn gauntlets…” She muttered. 

The water in the well was sparkling, glittering in more than just the sun as Morrigan waded into it. From far away, Varric thought he could hear someone whispering…

There was an explosive sounding crash from behind them that drew all their gazes. A moment where they all held their breath. Maybe, Varric thought weakly, one of them had done enough damage to the temple to cause it to start collapsing. 

Varric wished he believed it. But then, he may have been too horrified to act when Corypheus appeared, letting out a roar of rage as he stood over Samson’s body, before glaring. Past Varric, past Solas, straight to Maria. 

“Morrigan…” Maria called warningly, bow already in hand, arrow ready. 

“The mirror!” Morrigan called, before all the water in the pool rose into the air, scattering in a million directions. Without thinking, they ran blindly underneath the falling droplets, Morrigan vanishing into the Eluvian first, Solas after, Cassandra next. 

Maria was beside the frame, waving them through. Varric turned, snatching her wrist, and pulling her through after him. Corypheus’s shout of frustration ringing in his ears as they just dodged his grasping fingers, the sound of the mirror shattering following them into the misty, fade-like place they found themselves. 

 

Maria had immediately demanded to go back through. Thankfully, that was impossible. Despite her well-founded concerns about her army, about the friends they left behind, there was no way to return. The mirror had shattered after them, the frame dark behind their back. Morrigan argued that exploring the crossroads was dangerous, any mirror they chose could come out in the middle of the ocean or a nest of Dragons for all they knew. The best bet was to return to the mirror they knew, the one in Skyhold. 

Of course, nothing was that easy. The mirror they needed was close, but still a walk equivalent to about two miles. They were all injured as it was, nursing bruises, burns, and slashes. Varric had a pretty intense suspicion that his own ribs were cracked. The good thing about going to Skyhold was that Hawke would be there to fuss over them. 

The bad thing was that Maria was slowing down dramatically. Until finally, she stopped. 

“Someone needs to look at my shoulder.” She said between gritted teeth. Her face was pale, too pale, with only two bright spots of color like a fever on her cheeks. She was undoing the laces on her armor, fingers deft enough despite the tremor Varric saw. 

“It would be better to treat it at Skyhold.” Morrigan began impatiently. The apostate was nursing what Varric could only assume was a splitting headache, judging by the hand she had pressed against her forehead. Although she’d assured them all rather stiffly that she was in no danger. 

“I’m aware.” Maria’s tone was meant to be dry, but she sounded brittle instead. “Varric…” 

He took over the laces she couldn’t quite reach, deftly undoing them until the bodice fell away. 

Maria was a mass of bruises, which was to be expected. What Varric really hadn’t been expecting to see, what he had hoped he’d never see, was the small sliver of red lyrium embedded in her beautiful pale skin, jutting just barely from the surface. Around the wound, angry red lines were appearing under her skin, further in one direction than the other. As if the red lyrium was racing to get to her marked hand.

“Chuckles.” Varric said grimly. “You need to look at this.” 

“How bad is it?” Maria asked. There were freckles all along her shoulders, a dusting that he’d spent a lot of time tracing with both fingers and tongue. They were almost as familiar to him as his own skin. 

“Samson’s armor, when he grabbed you. He left a piece of it behind.” Varric explained as calmly as he was able. Varric didn’t miss the sharp intake of breath from Maria.

“Please tell me it wasn’t the glowing deadly part.” She begged. Varric closed his eyes.

“It won’t be deadly.” Varric promised. “We’re almost back to Skyhold, Hawke…” 

“It has to come out.” Solas said quickly. “The damage is already done, but allowing it to stay in will let it spread quicker.” 

“Right.” Cassandra’s face was dark with apprehension. “Cut it out or pull it out?” 

“Cut.” Solas was even more grim than usual. “It has fastened itself into the skin.” 

Maria’s hand didn’t shake as she took the dagger from her belt, handing it over her shoulder. “Douse it in Varric’s flask first, it’s got Samson’s blood all over it.” She ordered weakly. 

“Your flask.” Varric contradicted. “Yours has the stronger alcohol.” 

“The more expensive alcohol.” She pointed out. Varric groaned. 

“For the love of Andraste.” Cassandra groaned, reaching for Maria’s waist and snagging the flask from her belt. “We will requisition you another bottle.” 

Varric thanked the Maker that Cassandra was choosing not to ask why the stronger stuff was in Maria’s flask. He wasn’t sure how many people had noticed she’d been drowning her sorrows each night of the march. He knew Dorian and Bull had, probably Solas. Everyone else, well… 

“I’m sorry Cass.” Maria’s voice was small. “You must be disappointed.” 

Cassandra was wiping the blade off with a scowl, but her quick motions faltered at that and she looked down, unguarded for once. There was a fierce swell of tenderness in Cassandra’s gaze. 

“You are like a sister to me.” Cassandra stated simply, handing the blade to Solas. “There is little that you could do to disappoint me.” 

“Not like a real sister at all then.” Maria grumbled quietly. Ignoring her, Solas held the blade in his hand and took a deep breath. 

“This is going to hurt.” He warned. Maria nodded. 

“Get it over with.” She ordered. Cassandra held one arm, Varric held the other, as Solas sunk the knife into her back.

It was a mercy when she fainted, the screams still lingering in his ears as he held her limp form tight and Solas continued to cut. He was just over halfway done, blood running down his own arm and dripping into the crossroads. Varric didn’t comment on the tears in the elf’s eyes and blinked away his own. 

“We must hurry.” Solas handed the dagger to Cassandra and wrapped the shard heavily in several layers of cloth before stuffing it in his pack. “It is still spreading.” 

“Is it safe to carry the red lyrium?” Cassandra asked with a scowl as Varric swung Maria into his arms. Her head fell over his arm, red hair hanging in matted tendrils. Varric could almost ignore the fresh blood seeping into his own leathers. 

“It is not safe to leave it here.” Solas said simply, shaking his head. “Onwards.” 

 

They stumbled into Skyhold and sprung into action. Solas raced to get Dagna, barreling past squawking chantry sisters. Cassandra and Morrigan split up to find Hawke. Varric stayed, sinking to his knees with his trembling arms gently laying Maria onto the floor. 

“You’re home, Princess.” He muttered, pressing his lips to her forehead. She was burning up, had been growing warmer the entire time he carried her. The leather armor she’d worn had been left in the crossroads, discarded as unimportant. Unfortunately, that meant there was nothing to hide the angry red lines crawling down her skin like a curse, slithering closer and closer to the mark on her palm. 

“Varric!” 

He closed his eyes in relief before opening them and fixing on Hawke standing in the doorway with Cassandra behind her. Hawke was out of breath, flushed, her hand on her prominent baby bump. She’d run, as much as she could run at nearly a full term pregnancy.

Hawke, always there when he needed her. Never failing, never faltering. “Help her.” Varric pleaded. 

Hawke was beside him in moments, scowling at the red lines under her skin, gently rolling her onto her side so she could examine the would in her shoulder. “You cut it out?” Hawke asked. 

“Solas did. He went to get Dagna.” Varric answered, feeling his heart calm at her cool assurance. 

“I’ve got her, Varric.” Hawke said with a small smile, reassuring. “It isn’t so bad as…” 

“Hawke!” 

Morrigan had found Fenris and Hawke’s whole body tightened as she glared up at Broody in the doorway. “Get out.” She ordered, all business as she bent over Maria. “This is…”

“I know what it is.” Fenris interrupted, shaking off Cassandra’s hand as she tried to stop him from coming in. “I can feel it. I will not leave when this could be dangerous for you.” 

“Dangerous for me.” Hawke muttered in shock. “I swear on the Maker’s hairy asscheeks. Stay right there. Varric, if he comes a step closer, shoot him.” 

Varric nodded, ignoring the noise of disgust from Fenris. Hawke’s fingertips were glowing blue, her eyes were the same luminescent shade. “Lyrium potions.” Hawke snapped over her shoulder at Morrigan.

“Got them!” Dagna had an armload as she pushed past Fenris, Solas on her heels. Her exclamation was cheerful, but the expression on Dagna’s face was anything but as she knelt down by Hawke. 

“Can you stop it?” Dagna asked gently. 

“Yes.” Hawke wiped her forehead with her sleeve. “Yes. This isn’t as bad as…” 

Hawke didn’t finish, but she didn’t have to. Instead she began talking. “I need a block, a rune to cancel out magic. The red stuff is trying to get to her hand and I don’t even want to fucking know what will happen if those two things meet.” 

“Nothing I have is going to cancel out the anchor.” Dagna murmured. “Nothing  _ exists _ to cancel out the anchor.” 

“Mute it.” Hawke ordered. “Drain it. I don’t care what you do. Worst comes to worst, I’d rather chop that hand off than let…” 

“If her hand is severed the magic may explode and take Skyhold with it.” Solas broke in, voice strained. “We cannot begin to fathom…” 

“And if this spreads?” Hawke asked tersely. When Solas didn’t reply she nodded to herself. 

“This should dim it.” Dagna was placing a line of runestones up Maria’s palm. Varric saw the anchor’s light dim slightly. 

“What has happened?” A lyrical Orlesian voice asked from the doorway, distraught. 

“Leliana…” Cassandra began, pulling the woman into the room. “The Inquisitor has been injured, red lyrium.” 

Before Varric could even blink, the spymaster had turned and shoved Morrigan up against the wall. “You!” Leliana spat. 

“I have nothing to do with this. Release me and stop your…” Morrigan could have thrown the bard off in a moment, but didn’t. Instead, her right hand tightened on Leliana’s wrist. “I was not there.” 

“Of course you were not.” Leliana continued harshly. “Off playing your own game, as usual? Like after Denerim?” 

“I was stopping the destruction of…” 

“You were supposed to protect the Inquisitor!” Leliana shouted. 

“She is your Herald, Leliana. You know I have no time for this foolish Chantry nonsense.” Morrigan glared. 

“We counted on you! I should not have. I should have known better. You will always look after Morrigan first.” Leliana went to withdraw, but Morrigan tugged her back by the grip on her wrist. 

“I saved them.” Morrigan whispered harshly. “They were going to die and I  _ saved  _ them.” 

“Then you vanished!” Leliana pulled her wrist free. “You left us! We were your family, Morrigan, and you left us to pick up the pieces! Does Ali even know…” 

“He knows.” Morrigan said darkly. “It was part of the deal.” 

“What deal?” Leliana asked shrilly. 

“I promised.” Morrigan said cryptically. “No one else can ever know.” 

“Chantal…” 

“Chantal is dying.” Morrigan said bluntly. “Alistair is dying. Your herald is dying and I am trying to help, Leliana.” 

“Will someone shut them up or get them out of here?” Hawke asked irritably. 

“What do you hope to gain?” Leliana asked. “What is in it for Morrigan?” 

“He is!” Morrigan shouted. “They are hearing Corypheus’s calling, Leliana! I would stop at nothing to save them, to save him!” 

Beneath Hawke’s hands, the Inquisitor’s eyes flew open, the pupils blown so wide Varric could see no trace of gray at all. “Maria!” He exclaimed. 

“Do you hear it?” Maria Cadash asked, looking not at him, but beyond him at something only she could see. Varric looked to Hawke who scowled.

“Fenris hallucinated too.” She stated calmly. “Ignore it.” 

“What does she hear?” Varric pressed. 

“Maker only knows.” Hawke snapped, opening a lyrium potion and downing it. 

“A song.” Maria answered, eyes shutting slowly. “Old...terrible song. They’re coming.” 

“Who?” Varric asked. But the eyes beneath her lids had rolled up in her head and Hawke was swearing. Varric met Solas’s eyes across the room, sad and heavy, then looked back down at Maria, his fingers tangling with hers. He could hear Cassandra praying, could feel something burning in his own shoulder. An echo of the mark, the magic that had started all of this 

“I’ve got her Varric.” Hawke reassured smoothly. “I’ve got her. She’s alright.” Red glowing poison was seeping from Maria’s shoulder, into a vessel shoved in place by Dagna. Mixed with blood, but he could see the red lines receding.

“Thank you.” Varric whispered. “Hawke, I…” 

“Anything for my trusty dwarf.” Hawke smiled, her eyes still glowing, one hand pressed to her abdomen. “Although, I may be going into labor.” 


	77. The Wrath of Starkhaven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke is reckless, Fenris loves it despite himself. Maria recovers slowly. Sabina confides a fear. Sebastian comes to Skyhold.

Hawke, it turned out, did not go into labor. This, the annoyed surgeon chastised, was entirely independent of the fact that Hawke seemed to have done everything required to send herself into early labor. Fenris could not hide his smirk as the woman scolded Hawke for running the whole way from the library to the courtyard at nearly nine months pregnant, performing an intense healing ritual on a known poisonous substance, drinking two lyrium potions, then climbing up to the Inquisitor’s bedchamber before finally deigning to allow Fenris to summon the woman. 

“It is false labor. It is simply your body preparing you to actually have a baby. Although Maker forbid with your lack of sense…” The surgeon continued. Hawke arched one eyebrow, lounging on the Inquisitor’s sofa with her hand on her stomach. Fenris crossed his arms and tried to hide the smug satisfaction he felt. 

“You’re enjoying this.” Hawke accused, ignoring the surgeon and narrowing her eyes instead at Fenris. . 

“I am simply hoping that someone else shouting sense in your ear will cause you to see reason.” Fenris drawled. Hawke was struggling not to smile behind her annoyance. 

“Have I ever seen reason?” She asked. 

“No.” Fenris replied, rubbing the heel of his palm against his forehead.He turned his attention to the surgeon instead. “Thank you for coming, regardless. I will physically prevent her from all future endeavors.” 

Hawke snorted in exasperation. “You can try.” 

The fact remained that, in all likelihood, Hawke had saved the Inquisitor’s life and there was most likely none other that could have. Regardless of any other circumstances, Fenris was quite happy that the Inquisitor wasn’t dead. Beyond the fact that Cadash’s death would most likely cause Hawke and Fenris to have to vanish while Hawke was on the verge of giving birth, he couldn’t ignore what he’d seen on Varric’s face when he burst into the room and felt the sharp pricks of the red lyrium on his own markings. Varric had been desperate. 

The truth was clear.Cadash was one of theirs and always would be if Varric insisted on loving the mad woman. As such, there was not much Hawke wouldn’t do for her. Of course, there was nothing Fenris would not do for Hawke. 

So, when Hawke decided that she would not be leaving the Inquisitor’s room until the Inquisitor awoke, Fenris was helpless to do anything but bring up spare clothes and books. When Varric was finally convinced to leave and clean himself up, Fenris was the one who made sure the man ended up stopping by the mage’s tower and receiving a rather shallow healing from the fool girl who followed Varania around.

The Inquisitor slept for two days. 

 

On the second day, he’d brought Sabina to visit Hawke for lunch, then had walked the girl back to the mage’s tower. He’d finally received word from Varania in the morning, although it confused and concerned him. The first sentence was in Varania’s hand, shaky and uncertain, but the letters formed properly. 

 

_ Fenris - I am well.  _

 

The second part was more alarming. 

 

_ I am putting these words to paper for Varania. She asks that you keep a close eye on Sabina and says that she has a feeling she cannot explain. She says she knows you will think her ridiculous, but she feels as if there is danger. We will be back to Skyhold as soon as we can be.  _

_ Dorian _

 

He didn’t believe it at first and had shown it to Varric to ask if it was truly the altus’s handwriting. Varric had been as flabbergasted as Fenris was and had simply shrugged. “I mean, that’s definitely Sparkler’s writing.” 

“Why would she ask him to write it?” Fenris demanded. Varric looked pensive and thoughtful, smoothing back a piece of the Inquisitor’s hair back from her too pale face. 

“Well, Dorian wouldn’t be shocked that she didn’t know how, would he?” Varric said slowly. 

“Rainier…” Fenris began. Varric rolled his eyes. 

“How long did it take you to tell Hawke you couldn’t read?” Varric asked shrewdly. 

“Rainier is not Hawke.” Fenris growled stubbornly. 

“Not for you.” Varric muttered under his breath as Fenris strode away to escort Sabina back to her lessons. 

“Bina, is someone… bothering you?” He asked cautiously as he walked beside the child. 

“No!” She answered, fingers reaching to try and catch the banners whipping above her head on the battlements. She giggled as she missed. 

“You are not sad? Or mad?” Fenris prodded. Sabina’s small brow furrowed, an expression that made her look as serious as her mother. 

“I miss mama.” She said simply. “When will she come back?” 

“Soon.” Fenris promised. “She sent a letter this morning and said she will be back soon. She said she was worried about you.” 

“When?” Sabina pressed. 

“As soon as she can.” He shrugged and Sabina looked away, past the banners to the mountains in the distance. 

“Kieran’s mama is back now.” Sabina said sadly. “He says that means he has to go.” 

“Go where?” Fenris asked, curiosity piqued. His understanding was that Morrigan had no intention to leave until they used whatever knowledge she’d gained from the ancient (and most likely dangerous) artifact they’d found. 

“With the old lady. She says she’s his avia, but he doesn’t know her.” Sabina confided. 

“Have you seen her?” Fenris asked. Sabina looked up, green eyes wide. 

“Yes. She is scary.” Sabina admitted. “I wish mama would come home.” 

“If you see her again, tell me right away.” Fenris ordered, slipping to his haunches. “I will take care of it and stop her from bothering you and Kieran.” 

Sabina smiled, soft and sure, her slim arms wrapping around his neck. “She said I’ll go home someday.” She whispered in Fenris’s ear. Home. Minrathous. 

Fenris clicked his teeth shut to prevent the fearful snarl that threatened to break lose. When he took Sabina to the tower, he nearly ran back to the Inquisitor’s chambers. 

Hawke and Varric had both fallen asleep, sitting on the couch beside each other. Hawke was typically exhausted and Varric spent most of each night awake watching for any sign of Cadash’s condition changing, so this wasn’t surprising. Leliana was there instead, sitting at the Inquisitor’s desk and sorting paperwork into piles. She looked up as he entered. 

“Morrigan’s mother.” Fenris snapped. “Do you know her?” 

“Know her? I killed her.” Leliana answered immediately, taken aback by the question. This caused Fenris to pause on his way to wake Hawke, eyes fastening on the other woman. 

“Killed her?” He repeated, startled. 

“Well, I helped. Alistair and Chantal did most of it.” Leliana admitted. “Why? The woman was the worst kind of witch.” 

“You are certain she is dead?” Fenris pressed. 

“Positive.” Leliana affirmed. “What has happened?” 

“Sabina says there is an old woman bothering Kieran who claims to be his grandmother.” Fenris stated. “She has frightened them.” 

“I will look into it, but it cannot be Morrigan’s mother, and his father… well, his father’s mother is dead as well.” Leliana looked down, shifting the papers. “Perhaps one of the refugees. They are both mages, yes? Sometimes the common people are frightened, even of mage children.” 

“Right.” A weak voice came from the bed. “Please tell the adults not to pick on the children.” 

Leliana was up faster than Fenris could even turn, her face radiant beneath the hood. “You are awake!” She exclaimed. “What a relief! You should not have frightened us like that!” 

“I wasn’t trying to.” Leliana was kneeling beside the bed, taking one of Cadash’s hands in both of her own. Maria had her other arm thrown over her eyes as if to block the afternoon light, but she turned her head to the side to look at Leliana. 

“I never thought you’d be so glad to see me.” She observed shrewdly. 

“You are stubborn and irresponsible and I could not imagine us without you.” Leliana admitted quietly. “You have brought us so far, I cannot bear to… I was worried. It costs me little to admit it.” 

“Varric…” Cadash muttered, turning her head slowly and letting out a small, pained whimper. 

“He is here. Do not strain yourself.” Fenris remarked stiffly. “Hawke has patched you up, but judging from our past experience this is not something to recover from lightly.” 

“I feel awful.” The Inquisitor moaned. 

“Well, you’re also drying out I suppose.” Leliana said casually. “May I remind you that empty whiskey bottles do not go in the fireplace no matter what you may think.” 

Fenris, wisely, said nothing. Maria took the same approach as Fenris cross the room and lightly shook Varric’s shoulder. The man woke easily with a start, eyes flashing up to Fenris. 

“She’s awake.” Fenris barely had time to remove his hand from the dwarf's shoulder before Varric sprung forward lightly, crossing the room in a hurry. Leliana stepped away as Varric dropped to his knees next to the low bed. 

“Hey.” Varric’s fingers caught the Inquisitor’s easily, naturally. “You’ve kept me waiting.” 

“Typical, really.” Her voice was still a harsh, broken whisper but even Fenris could not miss the small smile on her lips. “How do you put up with it?” 

Varric’s laugh was a bit broken, brittle. He ducked his blonde head, both hands wrapping around Maria’s and holding it tight as he brought it to his forehead. Fenris could see his friend’s eyes squeezed shut tight, the rising emotion like a lump in his throat. 

This was intensely private and Fenris averted his eyes in embarrassment, looking instead at his hand resting on Hawke’s shoulder. He couldn’t help hearing Maria’s soft intake of breath and her plea. 

“Varric, please don’t cry.” Helpless to stop himself, he looked over at the two of them again. 

“I thought I was going to lose you to the fucking red lyrium I’m responsible for.” Varric whispered, his rough voice choked with tears. “After everything. A dragon, an archdemon, Corypheus… the red lyrium.” 

Varric could not hide the tears that were starting to fall, landing on the hand clenched within his own. Cadash made a noise of protest, moving her other arm to push herself off the bed. Fenris could have told her it was a mistake if he’d had time to do so. Instead, the Inquisitor’s arm buckled under even the small amount of strain and she let out a pained hiss. 

“Do not move.” Leliana ordered, hovering near the foot of the bed. 

“Reyna.” Fenris gripped her shoulder lightly and shook. “The Inquisitor is awake.” 

“Varric…” Cadash whispered, pulling her hand free from his to gently rest on his cheek. “Varric, it’s alright. We’re alright.” 

“Thanks to me.” Hawke muttered, opening one eye sleepily. “Nearly went into  _ labor _ for you, Inquisitor.” 

“Well, that’s just you having the worst luck as usual. I can hardly be held responsible.” Maria argued, her thumb lightly tracing Varric’s jaw, catching the tears. “Right?” 

“It’s a talent.” Hawke agreed, straightening and placing both hands beside her on the couch to attempt to push herself from the cushions. She rocked forward, then sank back. She tried again, huffing in exasperation. 

“Are you stuck?” Fenris asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“No.” Hawke answered petulantly, attempting to leverage herself up again before sinking into the cushions. She shot a distraught look up at Fenris. “Maybe. Why is all dwarven furniture so  _ low _ ?” 

“Do you require assistance?” Fenris asked, unable to hide his broad smile. Hawke’s face sunk into a deep pout. 

The Inquisitor and Varric laughed, the sound less brittle and less broken than it had been. It was a welcome sound as Fenris reached down to haul Hawke up to her feet. 

 

Hawke finally felt able to leave the Inquisitor’s side, which was a welcome relief. Cadash’s recovery was slow, but her injuries had not been as severe as his own. Although the red lyrium had acted similarly, she had the advantage of her anchor being in one place on her body, instead of lyrium branded everywhere. Also, Hawke had chirped, a lack of blood magic she’d had to fight. 

“Thank the Maker.” Maria had deadpanned. “I would have been a bit concerned if you found evidence of blood magic, Hawke.” 

Still, the Inquisitor demanded on her second day awake to review all the guard schedules. Leliana had simply rolled her eyes and looked across the table at Fenris. “You are Cullen when Cullen is not here, you deal with her. And tell her if I find out she has moved from that bed, I will tie her to it.” 

And Leliana would find out, Fenris thought with a shake of his head. Although she still hadn’t been able to track down the old woman Sabina had talked about. When he emerged into the Inquisitor’s room, the balcony doors stood open. Varric was at her desk, his feet up as he scratched away in his journal. 

“Broody!” He greeted with a grin. “To what do we owe the pleasure?” 

“Somebody will not stop working.” Fenris stated, holding his stack of papers. Varric sighed, looking reproachfully at the bed. 

“Rest. Relaxation.” He repeated as if he’d been doing it for months. It was fairly likely he had. “Princess, Leliana is holding it close that you’re back and up here so people will leave you the hell alone.” 

Maria did not look sheepish at all. She was sitting up in her bed, only a shade too pale and she smiled at Varric’s chiding. There was a fairly elaborate spread of cards over the blankets although Fenris was not sure it was something he recognized. Some form of solitaire? 

“Do you play?” Maria asked as he approached the bed, her hand outstretched for the schedules. 

“Not...whatever this is.” He jerked his head at the spread of cards. 

“Pyramids.” She explained. “I prefer Wicked Grace, but Varric doesn’t want to play.” 

“I’ve been warned against playing Wicked Grace with you or Josephine.” Fenris interjected. Varric chuckled softly from behind him and Maria nodded seriously. 

“Especially Josephine.” She counseled. “She’s merciless.”

“Did you want to go over these schedules with me?” Fenris asked, awkward standing over Maria’s bed. She grinned in response. 

“I didn’t really want them, but I knew they’d send you. I have a gift for you and Hawke, it came while I was gone.” Fenris turned, following her gaze to the far corner of the room beside a door and a small armoire. Beside it was something low to the ground covered in a sheet. Fenris cast a suspicious look at Varric who was astutely studying his journal and ignoring him. 

“I’ve been summoned under false pretenses.” Fenris remarked flatly. “Why is Hawke not here?” 

“She sent Rose when we tried it with her. Said she was too damn pregnant to walk up all these steps unless I was dying. Again.” Maria admitted sheepishly. Fenris sighed, turning to the armoire and approaching the item on the floor with no small amount of trepidation. The Inquisitor sighed theatrically. 

“It isn’t going to bite you.” She urged impatiently. Fenris took the worn cloth in his hand and pulled it. 

The dark wood gleamed in the afternoon sunlight. It was about the height of his knees and his revealing of it had set it to rock cleverly on its curved legs. There was already a stuffed mattress inside, framed by spiraling bars to prevent the babe from falling out. The head and foot of it was carved with fantastic creatures. Fenris could pick out a griffon, a dragon, and prominently featured…

A wolf and a hawk. 

“It is a cradle.” He stated. Varric quickly changed his laughter into a cough, smirking into his journal when Fenris turned to glare. 

“Is it big enough? It seemed big to me, but I’ve never been around an elf baby or a human baby. Honestly, I’m not sure how big they are when they’re new.” Maria asked anxiously, hovering forward. 

“Don’t you dare get out of bed.” Varric warned, shooting a piercing glare over the pages. Maria simply rolled her eyes. 

“Are dwarf children much smaller?” Fenris asked. 

“A bit, Broody.” Varric’s tone was amused. “They even come out with beards.” 

“All except Varric, of course.” Maria was still hovering, uncertain, looking as if she’d very much like to leave her bed and examine his reaction more closely. “I know Varania asked Thom to make you one, but I told him not to because I knew this was coming. If you hate it we’ll chuck it in the fireplace.” 

Where they had found her whiskey bottles when they’d carried her lifeless form up to her room. Fenris had often thrown Danarius’s furniture in his as well, along with paintings and robes. Things, as Hawke often pointed out, that did not belong there. 

The cradle was very grand. It had probably cost her a small fortune. It was too grand for a slave’s son or daughter, more fitting to that of a magister’s brat. Except, of course, if it were for the spawn of a magister it would be covered in gold leaf. This would not have looked out of place in the Amell estate next to the great fire, with Hawke on one side rocking it with her toe and Lucia sprawled out next to it. 

“It is perfect for the child of the Champion of Kirkwall.” Fenris said aloud.

“Well, it’ll have to go then.” Maria said immediately. When he looked back at her he could see her hiding her smile. “Since I bought it for the Champion of Kirkwall and her husband, the Champion of the Inquisition.”  

“That is not a real title.” Fenris pointed out, looking away from those dancing gray eyes.

“Sure it is.” Maria said easily, as if she could make up titles. Fenris supposed she could. 

“We will keep it. Thank you.” He began stiffly, turning back to Maria and her cards. “I prefer diamondback, if you would wish to play.” 

Her answering smile was only a little sad. “That was my grandmother’s favorite too.” 

 

Fenris was pulled from the fade by banging on the door. At first, he had thought it part of the dream. Hawke stirring beside him was enough to render him fully awake. Fully awake, and terrified. 

There was never a good reason for such urgent knocking. He was reminded of this by Sabina’s pale and frightened face on the trundle bed Hawke and Fenris had dragged into their room, her small hand clenched tightly in Lucia’s fur. Fenris put one finger to his lips and nodded in her direction as he stood, Hawke rising behind him. 

Fenris wrenched the door open and was shocked to see Varric standing in the faint pre-dawn light. His friends face was lined and weary. “Get dressed, we have problems.” 

“Varric?” Hawke called sleepily from behind him. From the corner of his eye he could already see her reaching for Sabina. Fenris felt his blood run cold. 

“What is it?” He asked, ducking inside and reaching for a shirt. 

“A squadron of Starkhaven scouts. Bowmen. Snuck through the worst of the mountains to make it as far as they did without being seen. Leliana’s people gave us some warning, but not much.” Varric muttered darkly. “They’re here for Hawke.” 

“They won’t have her.” Fenris growled. “The fortress is defensible, even with the few soldier left and my men. Cadash’s repairs are more than adequate.” 

“Choir boy is leading them.” Varric continued, rubbing his forehead. “He thinks Maria is still in the Arbor Wilds.” 

Nearly everyone thought Maria was still in the Arbor Wilds. Even word of her return had not penetrated all of Skyhold since she was locked up in her room. “So he thinks to extract us under her nose.” Fenris remarked wryly. 

“Mali autem homines?” Sabina asked quietly, voice wobbling with fear. 

“No.” Fenris answered immediately, turning on his heel and crouching beside Sabina. “Audite me. The bad men will never find you or your mother again, I swear it. Nos autem familia. I will keep you safe.” 

Fenris had promised that the first time he’d seen Sabina, just before they’d crawled out the window of the inn Hawke ended up setting on fire. That had been nearly half a year earlier. In that small space of time, it had become second nature to watch for Sabina’s wild curls in any crowd, for Varnia’s flaming hair. So much could change is so short amount of time.

Once, Sebastian had been his friend. Once. 

 

The gates still had not been thrown open for the day, and Fenris ordered tersely that they not be. It still shocked him that there was no question to his orders, not here. Instead, his men nodded and resumed their posts only slightly more tense than usual. The pale light of dawn was falling over the snow capped mountains in the distance and Hawke was still beside him, half hidden in a heavy cloak. 

“We could make a run for it.” She joked weakly. “Send a message to Varania to meet us elsewhere.” 

“You are not supposed to be running.” Fenris reminded her. Sebastian would not truly attempt to take Hawke, would he? Fenris did not know. Could not know. Sebastian had never come himself and Fenris had always thought that the man could not bear to face them, to sentence his old friends. If Sebastian knew Hawke was expecting a child, Fenris’s child…

Fenris could still not be certain. The thought maddened him. 

“I can’t run anyway.” Varric muttered. “Legs aren’t long enough.” 

Hawke laughed and Fenris rolled his eyes. In the mist on the far side of the bridge he could see figures coalescing. A group of soldiers in white and green. Fenris remembered Sebastian saying those were Starkhaven colors. 

Then the soldiers broke ranks and Sebastian Vael appeared himself, striding quickly across the bridge. 

The years had aged him, had aged them all. Fenris could see that the man walked with more gravity now, as if there was something heavy on his shoulders. Perhaps the crown weighed more heavily than Sebastian had anticipated it would when he sought to reclaim it. Perhaps it was grief for his motherless child and the wife he had lost. Still, his step was light as a thief’s and his hair was bright auburn. The soldier next to him called to the men guarding the gate. 

“Open the gate for Prince Vael of Starkhaven, ally to the Inquisition!” The man called. Sebastian was silent. 

“What is your business?” One of the guards asked gruffly. 

Fenris missed the response. It was overshadowed by a pained whisper from behind him. “I think you should tell them to open the gates.” 

“Maria…” Varric groaned as he turned. Fenris looked over his shoulder, taking in the shaky and pale form on the steps behind them. It couldn’t have been easy, he thought wryly, for her to make her way the whole way from her tower. She looked as if it had cost her a fair bit. She was leaning heavily on the spymaster, Leliana stooping to wrap an arm around the Inquisitor’s waist. 

“I am impressed.” Fenris said stiffly. “I thought even with your drive to make a situation worse than it has to be, your injuries would keep you in bed.” 

“I am impressive.” Cadash claimed weakly with a humorless smile. “I killed his wife. I think he has a fair right to demand to talk to me.” 

“He is not here for you.” Fenris growled. “You have been safe.” 

“Right. So are you.” Maria stated flatly. “I swear it. He didn’t come to see me, but I’m the one he needs. I fucked it up.” 

“This isn’t your fault.” Varric stated through gritted teeth. Fenris disagreed and was about to say so. Instead, Maria held up her finger. 

“Don’t be nice to me just because I almost died. Again.” She ordered. Then, with a sigh, she sat heavily on the step, letting go of Leliana. 

“You shouldn’t have brought her down here.” Varric scowled at the red head. “What were you thinking?” 

“I was already halfway down the steps.” Maria waved away his bad temper with a dismissive pass of her hand in the air. Her eyes were fixed over Varric’s head, on Hawke. Hawke was staring back at her, one hand on her abdomen and the other lightly touching Fenris’s elbow. 

“I’m so tired of it.” Maria said softly, her eyes gentle. “I have the Mayor of Crestwood languishing in the dungeon downstairs, you know. I thought I’d cut his head off myself when all this was done because I can’t punish the people who burnt Hercinia, who murdered Fynn. I exiled the Grey Wardens to avenge Stroud. I stabbed a man to death with a damn arrow because his men used my grandmother to send me a gruesome message. I’ve got mages who are so scared of templars and templars frightened to death of mages and I’m so fucking tired of it, Hawke. I’m ass deep in blood and it’s never going to end unless…”

“We end it.” The words were slow, heavy in Hawke’s voice. 

“Aren’t you tired too?” Maria asked gently. 

Hawke took her hand from his elbow and pressed her knuckles to her lips, looking over her shoulder at the bridge, the mountains in the distance. Below them, Fenris could hear the voices of men. “Trust me.” Cadash pleaded. There were shadows under her eyes. Grief, lack of sleep, pain. Who knew what had caused them. 

Hawke looked to Fenris, lyrium blue eyes shining with tears. “I don’t want to keep running.” She admitted. “I want to go home, someday. We can’t do that with Sebastian… we can’t.” 

“Venhedis.” Fenris hissed. “Reyna, I won’t let him take you from me. The risk…” 

“I won’t allow it.” Cadash stated firmly. Her voice was steady, solid. She had climbed the whole way down here, wracked with pain. Fenris knew how much it must have hurt. Knew that the journey must have been agony. 

Cadash had done it anyway. 

Despite the cold fear, Fenris looked to the soldier on his right. “Open the gate. Allow Prince Vael to bring in only four guards. That should be sufficient for his status.” 

“I’ll meet him at the gate, Leliana.” Cadash was reaching for the spymaster’s arm to lever herself back up, wincing. 

“Do not fail us, Cadash.” Fenris warned. 

“Not this time.” The dwarf grumbled, swaying slightly as she stood. 

 

Fenris did not let go of Hawke when they followed Cadash down to the courtyard. He had his free hand fisted in the back of her dress, ready to pull her back in a moment. Varric was on Cadash’s left, steadying her far more effectively than Leliana had until they got to the bottom of the steps. 

“I can take it from here, Tethras.” She assured as she pulled away. Josephine was waiting anxiously as the gates began to creep upwards. 

“Are you certain of this, Inquisitor? Should you not still be in bed?” Josephine asked, a touch plaintive. 

“She should.” Varric grumbled, his hand off the Inquisitor’s waist but waiting mere inches away to catch her if she should fall. 

“It must be done.” Leliana said briskly, shaking her head as she stepped back, examining Maria critically. “I wish you did not look so ill.” 

“Me too.” Maria agreed sourly. 

It was too late, the gates were open. Fenris pulled both Hawke and Varric closer to the walls, the soldiers, and the Inquisitor stepped forward on her own. 

Sebastian’s bow was still slung loosely over his shoulder. Fenris had been correct, there was no trace of gray in his hair, but there were lines in his face that had not been there in Kirkwall. His eyes were also harder, colder. Josephine stepped forward first, light on her feet, her gold dress glinting, throwing sparkling lights over Sebastian’s white tunic and green jacket. 

“Prince Vael.” Josephine sank into a perfectly appropriate curtsey, perfunctory instead of fawning, then drew herself up. “What a pleasant surprise. I am sorry we were unable to prepare an adequate arrival.” 

“I am not here on pleasant business, Ambassador.” Sebastian’s brogue was even thicker than he remembered. “Is the Inquisitor in residence?” 

“Why, yes! You are quite lucky.” Josephine said smoothly. Fenris did not miss the sharp drawing of Sebastian’s brow. “She has arrived, victorious, ahead of her armies from the Arbor Wilds. Inquisitor…” 

Fenris would never tire of watching people be introduced to Cadash. Despite the fact that it was widely known that the Herald of Andraste was a dwarf, still each human and elf looked around their height first as the scattered faces before dropping their eyes lower. Sebastian was no different, but when his eyes swept in their direction, Maria stopped it. 

“Prince Vael.” She said smoothly, slowly (too slowly, Cadash never moved so slow) moving to Josephine’s elbow and holding her hand out. “Nice to meet you. Ceud mile failte.” 

“I was unaware you spoke the traditional language of Starkhaven, lady Inquisitor.” Sebastian remarked, not reaching for her hand. Maria kept it outstretched. 

“That is the whole of it, I’m afraid. I spent some time in Starkhaven in my youth.” Maria smiled, charming and winsome. 

“As a criminal.” Sebastian said bluntly. Maria raised one eyebrow. 

“I was told the Prince of Starkhaven had very little room to talk when it came to youthful mistakes.” She widened her eyes innocently. Reluctantly, Sebastian reached forward and took the Inquisitor’s hand, raising it to his lips and kissing it briskly. 

“You are not what I expected.” Sebastian observed.

“I hear that often.” Maria admitted disingenuously, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I think people expect me to be taller. Or holding a bowl of fire.”

“I expect they think you will have better judgement.” Sebastian scowled down at Maria. “You are harboring dangerous criminals in your midst. It is shocking, concerning I have heard you have survived an assassination attempt by the very group formed...” 

“I did.” Maria interrupted softly. “I am very, very sorry that Lady Vael did not.” 

Fenris had met Flora Harimann briefly, could barely recall what the woman looked like. She had claimed to have been friends with Sebastian for years prior to Sebastian being given to the chantry. 

Regardless of how Sebastian had felt about the match, the flash of hard pain over his sculpted features was real and powerful. He heard Hawke gasp beside him at it. 

“Anders will pay for it.” Sebastian swore. “And all those who sheltered him.” 

“No.” Maria said softly, shaking her head. “I’ll stop Anders from doing any more harm, but I’m not leading a witch hunt.” 

“Then you are not the Herald of Andraste.” Sebastian snarled, taking a step back. “I am here to arrest the Champion of Kirkwall for her crimes. If not for her…” Josephine sighed. Hawke stiffened beside him.  

“I knew about the cell of Breakers in Starkhaven.” Cadash interrupted, eyes bright. “I had hoped they would lead me to Anders and I would be able to apprehend him. I did not inform you. I did not realize they had planned to kill your wife, or I would have stopped him. The blame is not Hawke’s. It is mine.” 

Maria’s words rang in the courtyard. Sebastian was frozen, in disbelief or fury Fenris could not even begin to guess. Cadash did not move, she continued to stand firm in front of Sebastian, head tipped up to look in his suddenly less cold eyes. 

Sebastian’s fist lashed out, gripping the front of Maria’s shirt and tugging her forward. If she had not been injured, she could have dodged. As it was, Fenris watched her bite her lip to prevent the cry of pain from her healing shoulder being so roughly handled. Varric swore, pushing forward from their side. “Why?” Sebastian asked, his voice choked with pain. “What gave you the right?” 

“Choir boy, drop her.” Varric ordered tersely, his fingers twitching as if his crossbow was in his hands. 

If Sebastian heard Varric, he didn’t respond. Maria’s one hand came up to cover his as it clutched at her shirt. “I am sorry.” She whispered kindly. “I am so sorry for you and your little girl.” 

“She is an orphan.” Sebastian snarled. “You have made her an orphan.” 

“She is not.” Hawke’s voice was clear as she pulled away from Fenris. His fingers tightened in the back of the dress but Hawke stepped forward regardless. “She is  _ not _ an orphan, she has you Sebastian.” 

This was enough to break the spell. Hawke’s voice drew Sebastian’s attention, his eyes sparkling with unshed tears and nearly as blue as Hawke’s. 

But it was the sight of Hawke, large with child, that Fenris suspected caused the Prince’s fingers to slip from the Inquisitor’s shirt. Cadash rocked back, unbalanced, grabbing onto Josephine. Sebastian was silent, staring not into Hawke’s face but at her stomach. Varric took the opportunity to slip to Maria’s side, holding her steady. 

“Maybe they can play together.” Maria said weakly, clutching onto Varric. 

Sebastian had tore his eyes away from Hawke and found Fenris just a step behind her. Their eyes met, a silent communication exchanged. A confirmation. Yes, his child. Yes, Fenris would  _ die _ first rather than give Hawke up. 

“Is this why you would not turn her over?” Sebastian asked Maria over his shoulder. 

“No.” Maria answered. “I won’t turn her over because she is my friend.” 

There it was, the final knot in the binds tying the Herald of Andraste, the Inquisitor, to them. Fenris was shocked as he looked past Sebastian, to the small dwarf, that he did not mind it much at all. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *avia: grandmother
> 
> *mali autem homines: Are the bad men here?
> 
> *audite me: Listen to me.
> 
> *nos autem familia: We are a family.


	78. Mythal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varania is wicked. Thom is rather into it. Dorian is the best. Flemuth comes for what is hers.

 

_ “We stand upon the precipice of change. The world fears the inevitable plummet into the abyss. Watch for that moment… and when it comes, do not hesitate to leap. It is only when you fall that you learn whether or not you can fly.”  _

_ Attributed to Flemuth in 9:32 Dragon, spoken to Reyna Hawke. Recorded by Varric Tethras.  _

 

_ Varania sat in Mythal’s temple, the finest cloth of gold falling from her hands and covering her knees. A wedding gown, she thought as she traced the fine fabric. Thin and light as the air, shimmering light a sunset captured in the water. It would be perfect for a wedding gown. Varania sang softly under her breath.  _

_ “Let me in the walls you’ve built around. We can light a match, and burn them down…”  _

_ “Mama!” Sabina cried. When Varania looked up she could see into Skyhold’s garden, Sabina waving brightly at her. So close, so far away. Varania brought her own hand up to wave, to smile at Sabina’s wild curls and bright green eyes. Kieran was there was well, kneeling next to a kitten attacking a ball of yarn. Sabina joined him, her voice cheerful, his laughter gentle.  _

_ “Such sweet children.” Varania should have been startled by the voice over her shoulder, but she wasn’t. She looked up, expecting to see the curling statue of a dragon whispering to her. Instead, there was a woman. Human, but unlike any human Varania had ever seen. Her hair fashioned into horns as if she was a dragon, her clothing unusual.  _

_ “Don’t stop, child.” The woman said kindly. “It’ll be lovely when you’re done. It is always is. Such a talent, to create things so beautiful.”  _

_ The woman was not looking at the cloth over Varania’s lap, but at Sabina and Kieran. Her expression was one of fondness, amusement. “Who are you?” Varania asked, picking the cloth back up as if she had been ordered to do so.  _

_ “Why, you’re in my temple are you not? Oh and I could feel you… a million miles away. Such a power sleeping in you, such old blood. Hidden right in the heart of the imperium all this time. Do you know how long I have sought to pull your bloodline from their soil?” The woman shook her head in exasperation. “It does not matter. You are where you need to be, yes?”  _

_ Varania needed to be at Skyhold. With Sabina. The woman chuckled as if she had heard the thought.  _

_ “Such a clever little girl. She’ll be perfect. I have knotted the webs so well that they cannot come undone. The stage is set.” The woman crossed her arms over her chest, smugly satisfied. “Now she need only play the part she was born for.”  _

_ In front of her the scene shifted, the children and garden vanished. There was a mirror, old and large, its surface glowing. Then it was quiet, still. The gold cloth in her hands was gone, forgotten, as Varania stood. “Bina?” She shouted, her voice echoing back to her as she stepped towards the mirror. “Bina!”  _

_ No answer, Varania turned back to the woman, fear stealing into her heart. “Where is she?” Varania demanded. Her needle was a sword, the blade glowing as she raised it. “Where is my daughter?”  _

_ “Be still, child. She is there. You need only look.” The woman cautioned. Varania turned back to the mirror, her heart skipping a beat.  _

_ Sabina was in front of it, her small hand pressed against the smooth surface, looking up and into it. Varania could only  see her back, the wild tumble of dark curls over her shoulders. The reflection in the mirror moved with her, but it was not Sabina. The hand pressing against the other side of the mirror was a young woman’s hand, her tanned skin framed in blue silk. She too was looking up and into the mirror, her green eyes glittering and a wild tumble of curls falling back over her shoulders.  _

_ Not Sabina. But familiar, so achingly familiar. “Bina!” Varania yelled. The child in front of the mirror turned to look over her shoulder and the young woman on the other side did the same. Bina’s eyes were glowing.  _

_ “Do you hear it mama?” Sabina asked.  _

_ From far away, echoing across the large space, Varania heard another voice full of lilting vowels.  _

_ “Mother, can you hear it?”  _

_ “Bina, come here.” Varania called, holding out her hand. Her daughter pulled away from the mirror, the false reflection doing the same to head in the opposite direction. But Sabina only took two steps before she vanished, gone. The mirror gone. The young woman trapped inside it, gone.  _

_ “Stop this!” Varania demanded, wheeling on the woman behind her. “Stop this at once!”  _

_ “It could never have been you, child. You have seen too much war, you are too like me.” The woman did not look unkind, but Varania was still frightened. “It is the dawn of a new age. There is no more use for women like us, women forged into deadly weapons. There has been too much blood. If it is to stop… well, that will be for the heroes of the next age, yes?”  _

 

Varania awoke with a fitful start, as if she’d been falling. “Easy.” A familiar voice soothed, fabric rustling.

She was in a tent, the red fabric bright above her. The light filtering through the fabric was dim, as if night had begun to fall and Varania’s head throbbed and ached. Ached like she’d drowned her sorrows in all the wine in Minrathous. She could hear her own heart beating in her temples. 

“Would you like some water?” One of her healers asked solicitously. “I can steep some elfroot in it.” 

“Yes. Please.” Varania pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead, grasping blindly at the earthen mug placed in her hand. She swallowed all the liquid in one gulp, rising shakily to her knees. She felt hollowed out, empty, a cracked and damaged vessel. 

“They say you brought a man back from the dead, milady.” The elf in front of her leaned back, resting on her heels. “Is is true?” 

“He was only mostly dead.” Varania’s voice sounded odd in her own ears, echoing. She tried to shake it off. “Do you know what has happened?” 

“I don’t, but I can find out.” The girl offered brightly. “I can get you some water to wash up too, and your clean things.” 

“Please.” Varania said simply, looking down at the blood caking her pale skin, dried on her breeches and tunic. The girl smiled joyfully before she took off. In mere moments, she was back with a basin of water wider than she was, some of it sloshing over the edge as she sat it down, and Varania’s bags slung over her shoulder. 

“I’ll be back.” She promised, ducking out the tent flap again. 

The basin was not wide enough for Varania to sit in and she did not have the energy to stand. Instead, she knelt beside it, looking into the clear water. She felt ill, ill for many different reasons. Too much magic, too much power, and the dream...the woman… 

She was frightened for Sabina. Even as she tried to rationalize it as a bad dream, a trick of the fade, she was unsure. Varania dipped her fingers into the water, pulling dregs of mana from her blood to her skin, letting fire and bend to her will. She did not stop until steam rose from the water and her skin turned pink. 

She pulled the tunic over her head, undressing methodically and tossing the bloodstained items into the far corner, kneeling with her back to the tent flap to preserve at the very least the modesty of her front when the girl returned. She pulled her hair from it’s bun and filled the empty cup with water, bending over the basin as she rinsed her red hair, fingers tangling in snarls until they were gone and she could comb her hair over her shoulder. Then she grabbed a clean cloth and began to scrub the filth from her shoulders, her arms. 

She was not surprised when the tent flap shifted behind her, only that the girl had returned so quickly. She wrang the cloth out with one hand, turning to look over her shoulder. 

It was not the girl. Instead, Thom was rooted to the tent entrance, doubled over due to his height, frozen as if under a spell. His eyes were the only thing moving. They were tracing a line from the point of her ear down her jaw, the slope of her shoulder…

And his eyes were molten with desire, dark and endless. Varania, startled, did not know exactly what to do. There was no hiding the nakedness of her back and turning would only be worse. Or better. 

That thought caused the blood in her head to disburse violently, rising to the very tips of her ears as she averted her eyes, ignoring the thrum of her own desire that pulsed and snapped like a wolf at her heels. Her movement caused whatever spell that held Thom to break and he took a step back, raising his own hand to his eyes, covering them. 

“I...I apologize. I did not, I was…” Thom began, then trailed into a low groan that did nothing to extinguish the tension. Varania could not tell if it was the steam or something else, but she was suddenly much too hot. “I just needed to see that you were awake, my lady. I was worried and I’ve intruded on your modesty. I heard you wanted to know what had happened and I… I could…” 

Intruded on her modesty? As if she were a princess in a tower. She bit her lip hard to keep from laughing. “I would like to know what happened.” She declared, picking the cloth back up from where it had slipped from her fingers in the water. 

“I can… I can come back.” Thom declared, one arm thrown out behind him to search for the seam of the tent.

“Your eyes are closed, are they not?” Varania couldn’t help the wicked teasing undertone to her words. It had been… too long since a man had made a fool of himself for her. There was something unbearably sweet about him running to her side the moment he heard she was awake, something unbelievably compelling about his eyes tracing her figure, then his complete denial in the name of chivalry.

Perhaps she was a smitten fool. If she  _ ever _ caught her daughter behaving in such a shameless way… Still, Varania pulled the cloth from the water, let the warm drops drip into the basin as she wrang it out. Then she nonchalantly dragged the cotton down her skin. “You can tell me now, yes?” 

“It isn’t appropriate.” Thom protested, so weakly that Varania knew she had already won. She grinned victoriously over her shoulder, even though his palm was still pressed tightly to his eyes and he had no hope of seeing it. 

“If you are there, nobody else can surprise me so.” Varania said simply, swirling the cloth in the water before stroking it over her collarbones. 

She had not expected the low rumble in Thom’s chest, but the sound of it delighted her nevertheless. He took a deep breath, exhaled, then another deep breath before he spoke. “You did it. Samson woke up, he’s actually still awake and mending if you can believe it. The red lyrium is going to kill him eventually and he’s a raving lunatic, but beyond that he’s in perfect health.” 

“Did he know what had happened to the Inquisitor?” Varania asked, brushing the cloth over her breasts for no other reason than the pure thrill of it, feeling her nipples pebble under the water as it dripped down her small breasts. 

“Yes and no. They went through the mirror, the one that was shattered. We...believe it may connect to the mirror at Skyhold. If the Inquisitor went through it, we can only assume she would attempt to make it to the one back in the fortress. We have secured the area here as best we can, no sign of any red templars or Venatori. We have sent word to Skyhold, we hope to hear back soon.” Varania plunged the cloth back into the water and Thom’s tongue dipped from his mouth to lick dry lips. 

“Are you well?” Varania asked, teasing. His laugh was gruff and warm, throaty with want. 

“I am uninjured.” He said neutrally. “Are  _ you _ well?” 

A serious question, one that required a serious answer. Varania swirled the cloth in the water as she thought, considered. “I have been better.” She conceded finally, thinking of the dull ache in her head, the hollowed out feeling in her stomach, the dread for Sabina buzzing in the back of her head.

“Is it… is it because of Dorian, my lady?” He asked, cautious. He'd dropped his hand from his eyes but they were still shut tightly. 

“No.” Varania's answer was immediate. No, the exchange with Dorian had not been pleasant, certainly, and she was not certain she would ever choose to do it again unless circumstances were dire. But still…

She looked down at the swirling water, remembering an old man with dark eyes and a disappointed scowl. Pain and longing all mixed together in a knot so complicated that it would be easier to cut the whole thing to pieces than untangle it. Varania knew those knots, she knew them well. “I am not upset by that. It had to be done and it was not as bad as I feared. I am worried for Sabina.” 

“Ah. I’m sure she is running your family ragged and having a grand time. She couldn’t be anywhere safer than Skyhold.” Still, Thom smiled. “But I doubt any of those words matter. If we get word that the Inquisitor is back at the fortress, we’ll be riding fast and hard to get back. You should come with us if the bulk of the forces can spare you.” 

The thought of seeing Sabina, safe and whole, sooner rather than later set her heart at ease. “Of course. I would love to return with you.” She answered immediately, pulling the cloth from the water. “Vivienne and Dorian are well?” 

“Madame Vivienne is complaining of a raging headache and Dorian is attempting to drown himself in a bottle of wine. Neither of those things are out of the ordinary though.” When Varania withdrew the cloth from the steaming water once more, Thom leaned forward as if called by the drops splashing back into the basin, his eyes still squeezed shut with such effort she’d be surprised if he wasn’t giving himself a headache. “I should...if there is nothing you need…” 

“Unless you would like to wash my back, I suppose that is all I need to know.” Varania had to bite her lip to keep from laughing at the color rising in Thom’s face. 

“Maker help me. I am, evidently, enthralled with a desire demon.” Thom muttered. “You have no idea, my lady, how tempting you are like this. I’ve thought it since that day with the damned well. But I won’t be dissuaded from courting you properly.” 

Varania did laugh then, bringing her hand up to her lips to stifle it. “As you wish, then.” She said gently. “Thank you Thom, for coming to see me.” 

“Anything for you, Varania.” He promised, taking a reluctant step back.

“Wait!” She cried out, standing. Thom froze, held in place by her voice. Varania stood, ignoring the gooseflesh prickling over her arms as she walked towards Thom. She could almost see his pulse fluttering in his neck. 

“I owe you something, yes?” She asked.

“Varania…” She could not tell if he was pleading for her to continue or stop. She reached up, cupping his cheek with her dry hand. He leaned into her, eyes still closed, bending towards her like a sapling in the wind. 

“Keep your eyes closed.” She ordered gently, bringing her lips softly to his. 

He tasted of woodsmoke and the sharp, clean tang of sweat. His beard was soft where it brushed against her skin, softer than she could have imagined it would be. His mouth opened just a bit, a strangled moan escaping as he fingers trailed through his beard to rest on his chest instead. 

“There.” She said, pulling back with a wicked smile. “Now you may go.” 

He nearly stumbled backwards out of the tent, fists clasped so tightly to his sides that she could only imagine the will it must have taken for him not to grab her and pull her close. She laughed, shaking her head as she turned back to the basin. 

Varania could not ignore the warm feeling that had settle in where the hollowness had been. She did not want to. 

 

Still, after she had scrawled her one line to Fenris, she could not rest. She stared at the paper with a deep scowl, tapping her fingers against the wood. Her one line that she had practiced and practiced, memorizing which letters followed the other. That one line said little, said nothing of note. It didn’t convey her concern, her worry. 

Fenris would not let anything happen to Sabina. She knew that, if she did not know that she would never have been able to leave her daughter in his care. But Fenris didn’t have her feeling, her mother’s gut instinct that something was wrong. Something… 

She could get Thom and ask him to write, but that would mean confessing her ignorance, letting go of the delicious and heady passion and settling too soon on bleak reality. Everyone knew how to read and write here, it was taken for granted. She would be thought stupid, she pondered bleakly, even if she asked one of her fellow mages to do it.

But there was  _ someone _ who wouldn’t question her ignorance. Someone who would know why she hadn’t been taught. He will laugh as well, her mind whispered traitorously. She could hardly believe she was considering it. Staring at the paper in front of her was doing very little to help her. So she made a decisive action, grabbing it and throwing herself out of the tent into the evening air. 

The Iron Bull was sitting next to one of the fires with the majority of his mercenaries. He was always easy to find between his booming laugh and the fact that he was a good foot taller than the rest of the soldiers, easily. The Dalish mage was telling a story, her hands moving exuberantly as the rest of the group laughed. The Iron Bull laughed as well, but his hand moved to beckon to her as she skirted his group. 

“Yes?” He asked in a low voice as Varania bent beside him. Straight and to the point, there was at least something to love about the Qunari. 

“I’m looking for Dorian. Do you know where he is?” She asked quietly.

If this shocked the Iron Bull, he didn’t let it show. Instead he jerked his thumb over his shoulder towards another tent. “Dunked him in a tank of cold water and threw him in there to sober up hours ago. Whatever happened with that shit you were all doing… shook him up. Between that and boss missing…” 

“Thank you.” Varania withdrew tenatively, squaring her shoulders as she turned to the tent. 

A tent, she reminded herself. A tent in the Arbor Wilds, a thousand miles from Minrathous. She was not in a Magister’s household, nor would she ever be again. There was no one to fear. If Dorian tried to hurt her, there was no reason not to fight back. Still, she felt sixteen again, weak kneed outside Corix’s room while Nico tipped her head back and poured powder down her mouth to dull the pain. 

Perhaps it would not be so bad to go Thom after all. Before she could act on that thought, she heard a stream of curses from inside the tent. “Sera, I am awake you heathen and if you so much as  _ consider _ putting toads in here I will burn you to a crisp.” 

“I’m not Sera.” Varania answered, taking a step away from the tent. The silence that answered her was vast and Varania almost had time to turn before the tent flap was opened, the altus kneeling inside it. 

“I have to admit, I did not expect to see you.” He admitted wearily. “Would you like to come in? I’m afraid I don’t even have any wine to offer, but…” 

“Yes.” Varania interrupted before she could lose her nerve. Or perhaps before he could lose his. He could not look in her eyes and Varania could not meet his. Still, he ducked backwards as far as he could, giving Varania more than enough space to enter. 

He was in nothing but a plain white shirt and a pair of breeches that were far too loose. His hair was rumpled as if he’d been running his fingers through it repeatedly and he knelt in the small space, hands curled into fists on his knees. Varania did not kneel, instead sitting and tucking her feet underneath her as if she could curl into a ball. He smelled like Minrathous in this space, like the spices the nobles used to scent their clothes. 

“I’m a damn fool.” Dorian finally exclaimed. “I cannot fathom how you are even doing this right now. If I…” Dorian stopped, chewing his words. His eyes were still weighted onto the ground. “I saw what he did to you. I  _ felt _ what he did to you.” 

Varania felt her nails bite into the skin of her palms and took a deep breath. A mistake, the cloying scent of her homeland on  _ everything _ . “It was a long time ago.” 

“I knew him.” Dorian stated. “Not well. Attended the same parties. I never thought… he was a monster, and I never knew. How many more are walking around my homeland? I thought them all mistaken naive fools who thought that if they threw blood magic at a problem it would go away, but how many  _ enjoy _ it?” 

Varania suspected the number was high from the stories she had heard, but she did not think he was really asking her for her opinion. “I thought you a fool who was blinded by her own hatred. I was mistaken. I can barely understand how you can tolerate proximity to any man, let alone me.” 

“I could not at first.” Varania admitted when the silence stretched on. “I was. Blinded by my own hatred.” 

Dorian opened his mouth to argue, but Varania raised a hand to stop him. “You have never done anything to justify my fear and hate. You have been patient, kind even when I had no choice but to allow it. I could not fathom why you would leave Tevinter unless your motives were nefarious.” 

“My petty problems are nothing compared to what you have gone through.” Dorian’s shoulders slumped. 

“That does not mean that it has not been hard for you as well.” Varania said quietly. “He should not have tried to use blood magic on you to change you. There is nothing wrong with you.” 

Dorian’s smile was wistful, sad. “And you are not ruined.” 

 

Varania had never been more glad of anything than to see the towers of Skyhold in the distance. It had taken them just shy of a week to make it back with Commander Rutherford pushing hard each day. So hard, in fact, that he’d received a rather colorful assortment of nicknames from the Inquisitor’s companions. “By the short and curlies” was a popular one, playing on a nickname Varric had assigned. Another one was templar-to-tyrant. Inquisitor’s jackboot was Varania’s favorite so far. Still, she was relieved to enter the gate. 

Not as relieved by the grim expression on Fenris’s face as he took Tyrus’s reins nearly as soon as she arrived. Her heart had leapt into her throat, terrified that something had indeed been wrong with Sabina. But Fenris had whisked her off to the garden without even giving her a chance to thank Thom for taking care of her horse. But she felt better, more grounded, the moment Sabina threw herself into her arms. Even the terse and worried explanations from Fenris and Reyna could not dampen Varania’s spirits. 

“How is it that you are always finding yourselves in trouble?” Varania asked, perplexed, as she smoothed back Sabina’s curls.

“It’s a gift.” Reyna shrugged, as much at a loss for an explanation as anyone else. 

“I suggest returning it.” Varania joked. More surprisingly, Fenris laughed. Reyna looked between the two of them, shocked. 

“Someone has certainly returned from playing hero in a good mood.” She remarked suspiciously. 

“I have no idea what you mean.” She said airily. “We were talking about you, regardless.” 

“The comb in your hair is very fine.” Reyna’s eyes were sparkling. Fenris’s narrowed. 

“What comb? I did not notice…” 

“Of course you didn’t.” Reyna shook her head in exasperation. 

“What are we going to do about the Prince demanding your head on a platter?” Varania asked tartly. “Or are we hoping that you’ll charm your way back into his good graces?” 

“We’re actually hoping that the Inquisitor manages it. But you should maybe avoid any scowling red headed men.” Reyna advised. “Their rooms are right above ours.” 

“Of course they are.” Varania sighed. “What about you, Bina? You’ve been good?” 

“I have!” Sabina protested. Varania shot a look from under her lashes at Fenris. He shrugged simply. 

“There was a refugee woman bothering them, but nobody has seen her since. Perhaps she is gone. Beyond that, we have had fun, right Sabina?” 

Sabina’s answering grin chased away the remaining fear. 

 

That evening, Varania waited on pins and needles as Sabina drifted to sleep. There had been no time or privacy to bask in Thom’s attention. There was nothing her aching body wanted more than to lay down and forget the week spent on horseback. Her mind had different plans and it was busy concocting scenarios where he appeared at her door. 

So she wasn’t particularly surprised when she heard the knock, solid as he was. Smiling, she put aside Sabina’s doll and the tiny half-finished dress she’d been making out of scraps. When she opened the door, he was there as if she’d summoned him. There was a white flower in his hand, the petals glowing in the torchlight. He held it out with a gallant bow. 

“Andraste’s grace, I think. They grow all over the slopes outside.” He answered her unasked question as she took the flower, sniffing it experimentally. “When I told you that you should come with us, I had hoped to get more time alone with you. Cullen is a good man… but I’ve been on less exhaustive marches.” 

“It was like fleeing Tevinter all over again.” Varania agreed, reaching behind her and placing the flower on the desk, closing the door almost the whole way as she stepped into the evening air beside him. The crack was just wide enough that she’d be sure to hear or see if Sabina woke.

“Hawke was down at the stables today asking about your comb.” He teased lightly. 

“She is so nosey.” Varania sighed, but even she could hear the fondness in her voice. “I would have come, but Sabina…” 

“She missed her mother.” Thom said succinctly. “I don’t blame her for taking all your time.” 

“But you blame Cullen for driving us back to Skyhold at breakneck speed?” She teased. 

“Yes.” He agreed, smiling down at her. He raised one hand, slowly, to gently run his bare fingers down her cheekbone. “You’re driving me mad.” 

“We cannot have that.” Varania reasoned, taking a step closer and tipping her head up. 

“Will you take your hair down?” He blurted out thoughtlessly. Varania was startled, almost immediately complying with the strange demand, her hand reaching back to the comb in her hair and tugging it loose.

“My hair?” She asked, perplexed, as it fell around her face. Not nearly as long as Reyna’s (how did the woman manage all of it?) but falling past her shoulders in gentle red waves. 

“All I can think about it your hair loose. In the tent… I realized you look like a goddess with your hair down and I like to think nobody knows it but me.” 

Varania nearly rolled her eyes. “I’m sure nobody thinks that but you.” 

Thom chuckled, low in his throat, his fingers trailing back up her cheek to her hair, tucking it gently behind one pointed ear. “That, my lady, is false. All I have wanted since that day is to touch you. Kiss you. Leave you breathless so I don’t have to worry about all those other fools trying to get your attention.” 

Varania’s breath hitched as Thom’s thumb coasted back down her cheek, brushing against her lips gently, a question in the touch. Varania’s lips opened in invitation and in that moment, she was lost as Thom’s arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her up and into his chest, her arms slipping around his neck as he backed her up against the low wall, easily hefting her onto it with only one arm while the other hand tangled in her loose hair.

He still tasted of woodsmoke, of fresh grass and golden hay and all of the best parts of the spring. She arched her back to press further against the solidness of him, the reassuring bulk of well used muscles as her own fingers clutched his shoulders for purchase. 

She was glad of the wall. If not for it, she would be swooning and that would have been more embarrassing than she could handle. His hand was trailing over her waist, dancing up her ribs, the thin cloth suddenly much too cumbersome for Varania’s taste. 

“You are so beautiful.” Thom whispered as he drew back, his lips still nearly touching hers. “So beautiful, so strong.” 

That time, Varania captured his lips with hers. 

She was unsure how much time passed in their blissful exploration of tongue and mouth, hands stroking over cloth, innocent and curious and questioning. It felt like seconds, but when the sharp wail hit her ears she was aware enough to know that it had to have been longer. She pulled back immediately, Thom’s arms loosening around her waist without Varania needing to say anything. 

“Bina.” Varania was breathless, her daughter’s name more a gasp than anything as Thom stepped away from her and she slunk from the wall to the solid ground, feeling dizzy as she moved quickly to the cracked door, pushing it open. 

Sabina’s shoulders shook in frightened sobs, her large green eyes wide. Varania’s head cleared quickly as she slipped to Sabina’s side, opening her arms wide just in time for Sabina to slide into the empty space, to bury her tear streaked face in her mother’s neck. 

“Bina, Bina…” Varania cooed, tightening her arms around Sabina’s skinny frame. “Shush, dulce meum. I’m here, what is wrong?” 

Sabina shook her head against Varania’s shoulder, speechless. A nightmare, it must have been. Varania hummed one note, brief and soft, kissing Sabina’s temple as she stroked up and down the girl’s spine, shushing softly. 

“Is she alright?” Thom asked from the doorway. Varania nodded, resting her cheek on Sabina’s head. 

“Yes, she will be. Right, Bina?” Varania asked softly. “It was only a bad dream. It is over now.” 

“Et potest sede?” Sabina sniffled into her shoulder. “Et lectis in can.” 

“Oh Bina.” Varania sighed. “There is nothing under the bed. Salvus es, amica mea.” 

“Worried there’s something under the bed? Well, let me see.” Thom said cheerfully, sinking to his knees. Varania was about to tsk and tell him to stand back up, but he peered under the bed and made a great show of looking in all the corners until Sabina giggled weakly against Varania’s skin. 

“Well, whatever it was, you scared it off. Here, let’s put one of your soldiers on watch.” Thom reached for one of the many wooden dolls, standing it at the foot of the bed and turning it to look into the dark space. “Better?” 

Sabina nodded, turning her head to see Thom better as he knelt next to the bed. “Stay here?” 

“Sabina…” Varania began. 

“I’d like nothing better.” Thom said simply, standing and making his way to the wooden chair next to the desk, sitting on it casually. “I’ll stay till you’re back asleep or your mama’s tired of me, whatever happens first.” 

“You do not have to.” Varania offered gently. 

“I want to.” He nodded in finality, reclining in the chair, eyes warm and tender as he watched Varania stroke Sabina’s hair and back. 

Varania wondered what would happen if she never tired of him. 

 

Perhaps, Varania would later think, she had let her guard down too easily. Varania had fallen asleep in Sabina’s bed while Thom had hummed under his breath, a lull in their conversation after Sabina had drifted away. She had awoken to find him gone, but the flower still on the desk. And when Sabina had pleaded to spend the day playing with Kieran and her in the garden, she had acquiesced easily, moving outside with her basket and all her half finished projects. 

She had gotten caught up in finishing the swaddling blanket she was working on and had not noticed how quiet the garden had become. Not until she heard a wail that pierced her heart again. Varania looked up, watching as Sabina ran from one of the storage rooms, her arms outstretched as she ran towards Varania. Varania stood, her sewing tumbling from her lap as she caught Sabina in her arms. The child was sobbing so hard her whole body shook. From the corner of her eye, Varania saw movement as Morrigan stood up from examining her assortment of rare plants. 

“Bina, what is it? Are you hurt?” Varania asked, pulling back to try and look at her daughter. 

“Kieran went through the mirror!” Sabina cried out, distraught. “Ad vetus mulier ad eum!” 

“Bina, what… what mirror?” Varania asked, although she was afraid she already knew. She could see the knowledge already creeping into Morrigan’s face. She heard Fenris calling her name from the other side of the garden, as if he’d been drawn to Sabina’s sobs. 

“The old one.” Bina sniffled. “The magic one. He went through it and he won’t come back.” 

Morrigan took off toward the storage room at a full run. “Morrigan!” Varania called out, but  the woman did not hear or did not care.

“Varania, what has happened?” Fenris asked, his hand on her shoulder as she watched Morrigan disappear. 

“You must get the Inquisitor.” Varania babbled, holding Sabina tight to her chest. “Morrigan’s son went through the Eluvian.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *et potest sede: Can he stay?   
> *Et lectis in can: He can check under the beds.   
> *salvus es, amica mea: You are safe, my love.   
> *ad vetus mulier ad eum: The old woman told him to.


	79. The Path Forward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maria gets stuck in an Eluvian on a Tuesday. Varania and Morrigan have words. Maria and Varric have a moment before it all goes to hell.

Sebastian Vael had gotten old in the space of mere years. Varric didn’t expect that to make him as sad as it did. Yet, Varric perched on the balcony above the great hall and continued to watch while Hawke lazed beside him, at once both of them completely casual. And yet, both of them ready to spring in an instant. 

The arguments had gone on for days and in a way, Varric was grateful for them. He’d have felt better if Maria had actually been resting in her room as Hawke had ordered, but sitting in the great hall was still less strenuous than traipsing all over Skyhold or organizing expeditions to the shittiest places in Thedas. Still, the tension radiating down the length of her entire body was concerning, even he could see it from his perch. 

“I have heard the story of what happened in Kirkwall so many times, your worship, I could repeat it from memory.” Grand Enchanter Fiona exclaimed in frustration. “The College of Magi could find no evidence of the Champion’s guilt then. Current circumstances regarding the abomination Anders and his vendetta against the Champion’s family add more exculpatory evidence to what we had then! If she was his co-conspirator, it is a horrible way to repay her.” 

“You were not there, Grand Enchanter. I was.” Sebastian said grimly. Hawke sighed beside him. 

“What do you think it’ll take for her to convince him to let me go?” She asked, one hand tucked on her stomach. She winced as the baby inside her gave a particularly sharp kick. 

“If Sebastian believes Maria is the herald of Andraste, he’ll follow her. I don’t think his faith has been shaken that badly.” Varric mused. Hawke huffed in annoyance. 

“Varric, I like her, but I don’t think she’s divine. She’s got either the worst luck or the best, but she’s no Andraste.” Hawke griped, moving her hand to rub at the constantly sore spot on her back. Varric said nothing. 

“You really think she’s Andraste’s messenger?” Hawke asked, puzzled. “Despite the fact you’re pampering the paragon with her on the regular?” 

“I don’t know if I’d go messenger. If Andraste wanted messages delivered, she could have found a herald with longer legs.” Varric joked with a smirk, looking up at Hawke. Disbelief was still etched in every line of her face. 

“You don’t have to believe, Hawke. Maria isn’t convinced herself that she just doesn’t have terrible luck. But...yes. I believe Andraste picked her, the Maker sent her to the temple, and that… they’re with us. With her.” Varric nodded, listening to the arguement pick back up underneath them. “I believe in her.” 

“Even though you’ve seen her naked?” Hawke’s grin was sly. “Speaking of, I’ve been wondering…” 

“Yes.” Varric answered with relish. “Same color. If I hear you breathe a word of it, I’ll skin you alive.” 

A wail, piercing and bright, sounded from the garden behind them. Hawke pulled back from the railing, smile falling quickly. “I think that’s Sabina.” 

“I’m sure if Bean is out there, Varania’s with her. Probably fell and hurt herself.” Varric soothed. Hawke’s mood swings were very little to joke about at this point in time. If that baby stayed in there much longer, he was going to have to start keeping a tally of damages the little thing was responsible for. 

Of course, Fenris rushing into the great hall on the heels of wail instantly dispelled Varric’s hope that everything was alright. Regardless, Maria looked relieved as she stood up, one hand out to stop Sebastian and Fiona’s bickering. Her eyes were almost helpful as she looked at Fenris.

“Emergency?” She pleaded. 

“Morrigan’s son has gone through the Eluvian.” Fenris growled out. “Which was apparently never secured, because we simply allow dangerous magical artifacts to sit within reach of every child in Skyhold.” 

Varric was still pretty sure he heard Maria thank the Maker as she tore out of the great hall and into the garden. Hawke turned, less gracefully, and made her own way out onto the terrace, then slowly and carefully down the steps, one hand on her stomach.

“Hawke.” Varric’s impatience broke through. “If you hurry, we may get there before you actually have this kid.” 

“Fuck you, Varric.” Hawke declared with a scowl over her shoulder. “Go around me.” 

“Hawke,  _ nobody _ can go around you.” He informed her. Varric almost felt her glare singe his chest hair.

In the garden, Sabina was still sobbing into Varania’s neck as the woman soothed her softly in her mother tongue. Varric would never have guessed Tevene was such a soft and beautiful language, not from the way Fenris had stalked around spitting it for years. Still, the child appeared pretty inconsolable even as Varania rocked her and Hawke approached, gently laying a hand on Sabina’s back as she looked at Varania. “Is she…?”

“Unharmed.” Varania answered, voice thick with anger and fear. “From what I can gather, the lad asked her to go with him. She became frightened and refused, then ran to me when he went through. Fenris, how could...”

“I know.” Fenris snarled. “I will see it destroyed or locked up, I promise you.”  

Well, that would be interesting if they got the kid back. Leliana was already at the door, following the Inquisitor into the Eluvian’s room. Varric followed close behind, just close enough to hear Leliana’s lilting voice explaining that Morrigan had bolted after the boy. 

The mirror was glowing blue and Maria was silhouetted in front of it, her head tilted to the side curiously as she approached. Varric clicked the door shut behind them, sliding the latch shut. At the click, Maria looked up with a wry smile. 

“Please tell me you’re not intending to go through that mirror.” Varric drawled. “Especially since you’re still supposed to be resting.” 

“Varric, you know it’s Tuesday. Time for my weekly dose of weird and impossible.” She cocked her head to the mirror, fearlessly plunging one hand through it’s shimmering surface. “Coming, Tethras?” 

With that she turned, slipping into the shining surface, melting into it like she was made of light and magic herself. Varric swore under his breath, picking up his pace to follow after her. The mirror shimmered...then dimmed.

Varric watched with sinking heart as the light vanished and all Varric could see was his own stunned expression reflected back at him. 

“A trap. Of course.” Leliana hissed, taking a step back. 

The Inquisitor was gone. 

 

In minutes, Varric and Leliana had every mage worth their mana in the room. Hawke and Varania looking intensely displeased, Fenris holding Bean in the doorway and looking just as scowly. Solas, Dorian, and Vivienne looked a bit horrified, which didn’t make Varric feel any better. 

“Of course she would waltz right into an enchanted mirror with nary a thought. Obviously, the spitting mark in her hand makes her an expert in things that could kill her, so why should she worry?” Dorian fretted furiously.

“The boy himself was obviously lured to catch both Morrigan and the Inquisitor. Of course Morrigan would run after him.” Vivienne mused thoughtfully, lips pursed. 

“And of course Maria would go after her. She’s never met a damsel in distress she could resist.” Dorian’s scowl deepened. 

“Is that what attracted her to Varric, you think?” Hawke asked idly. Varania and Fenris made damn near identical expressions of disgruntlement. Varric would have been amused if the situation wasn’t so dire. 

“The mirror has been locked by powerful magic from the other side.” Solas observed. “A powerful mage. More powerful than any of us.” 

“Corypheus?” Leliana questioned anxiously. 

“I cannot feel any red lyrium.” Dorian shrugged uneasily. 

“I do not believe Corypheus would be able to use the Eluvian.” Solas sighed, placing his hand on the mirror and mumbling something in Elven. Varric almost hoped the mirror would respond, but it remained empty and cold.

Damnit, he felt like Daisy. He wondered what would happen if he suggested blood magic as a solution. 

“Morrigan could open it from the other side, could she not?” Varania asked dubiously. “If she was unable to  _ control _ this thing, she should not have brought it here.” 

“Agreed.” Fenris responded dryly. Sabina said something in Tevene, mumbled gently into Fenris’s tunic. Varania closed her eyes and Fenris dropped his eyes to the child in his arms with a soft shushing sound, his lyrium scarred hand gently sweeping her curls back. 

There was something odd about watching that gesture. He was too used to seeing those hands covered in blood and gore, had missed that they had become softer things. Perhaps not free of harshness yet, but closer. 

The light from the mirror caused everyone to take a quick step back, staffs pulled quickly into defensive positions. But the first thing through was the boy, a quick sigh of relief from Leliana as a long, pale arm appeared on his shoulder and led to Morrigan, her head tilted down to watch her son with something like fear on every line. Then, behind them…

“Fasta vass!” Dorian exclaimed, staff dropping with a clatter so loud it startled everyone. Maria was barely halfway out of the mirror before Dorian had jerked her the rest of the way forward, embracing her so tightly Varric heard something crack. “You mad, irresponsible… why do you insist on worrying me half to death?” 

“For the fun of it, of course. You’re choking me, Dorian.” Maria mumbled into the man’s robes. Dorian withdrew, holding the Inquisitor at arm’s length and sweeping his dark eyes across her critically before Varric elbowed him out of the way. 

“The mirror shut behind you.” Varric grasped her hand, felt the warm tingling magic under his fingers. Real, real and solid, not magic and light. “Like somebody had slammed it shut.” 

“Distinct possibility.” Maria commented, observing Morrigan from the corner of her eye. “You’re never going to believe what just happened.”

“Where you’re concerned, I usually don’t. Even as I’m living it.” Varric sighed. Leliana was bent over, smiling gently at Kieran. 

“We met Morrigan’s mother. Turns out she’s Flemuth, Witch of the Wilds.” Hawke and Fenris both stiffened, looked at each other. 

“But, Morrigan, your mother…” Leliana began, looking up in confusion. 

“Is also apparently the ancient Elven goddess Mythal.” Morrigan sighed. “And I have enslaved myself to her.” 

This revelation was shocking, climatic. But it was Varania’s reaction that stole the show, flinching as if she’d been electrocuted and recoiling away from Morrigan. Hawke reached out immediately, catching the woman’s elbow. “You foolish… stultus!” Varania exclaimed, shades paler than she usually was. “This is your fault, you think you can simply meddle with the workings of ancient magics and walk away? What have you brought down upon us?” 

“Nothing that concerns you.” Morrigan scowled. “And I will not be chided by the likes of you.” 

“The likes of me?” Varania repeated dangerously, her lips were pressed thin. “You believe there are no consequences to your actions. You’re as bad as a Magister and you have taught your son…” 

“It is not Kieran’s fault!” Morrigan declared passionately. 

“That he can do whatever he wishes with little fear of the repercussions.” Varania finished, impervious to Morrigan’s interruption. 

“You are simply afraid of your own magic.” Morrigan muttered darkly. 

“Do I look as if I am afraid of  _ my _ magic?” Varania asked. “I am in control of my magic, which is not as much as I can say of you! You and your son have put my daughter in danger!” 

“Your brat is in no danger.” Morrigan sneered, pulling Kieran gently behind her. “Beyond having a cowering witch such as you as her mother.” Varric heard a low growl in Fenris’s throat, but it was nothing so absolutely terrifying as the way Varania’s chin went up in a dare. 

“I saw her, you malefica.” Varania said darkly. “In the temple, I saw  _ her _ and she only saw us because of your selfishness. I hope the price we pay is the life of your son rather than the life of my child.” 

It felt like a curse, a dangerous whispering of portents to come in Varania’s velvet voice. Even Morrigan flinched at the tone. “If something happens to her, I will carve your heart from your chest myself and feed it to the wolves.” 

“You are free to try.” Morrigan threatened. 

“That’s enough!” Maria finally broke in, looking as stunned as the rest of them felt. Neither witch looked away from the other, both perilously close to each other and utterly dangerous even unarmed. Maria pushed in between the two women, looking from the alarmed face of Kieran to the death grip Sabina had on Fenris’s shoulder. “You’re scaring your own damned children.” 

This was enough to break the spell. Morrigan looking down and behind her at Kieran, Varania turning over her shoulder and taking several quick steps to Fenris, lifting Sabina from his arms. He said something in Tevene and Varania replied equally curtly. Fenris shot a dark look at Hawke who sighed, looking helplessly down at Maria. Maria simply nodded in understanding as Varania and Fenris turned, their low voices babbling. 

“Lock it up or destroy it.” Hawke said wearily, following in their wake. “But let’s not have a repeat of this, yes?” 

“Agreed. Solas, can you get Dagna and ask her to make me another lock? She’ll know which one I want. One key to me, the other to Morrigan here. Until then, I’ll get guards posted on this room.” Maria rubbed the back of her hand across her eyes. “Shit.” 

“Guess who is no longer the most hated mage in Skyhold by those two?” Dorian asked cheerfully.  

“Thank goodness for silver linings.” Maria sighed. 

 

Varric crept through the garden quietly, scanning the darkness as he walked. This late, a hush had fallen over Skyhold. Despite the excitement of the morning, things had generally settled down. Maria had spent most of the rest of her day locked in the war room with her advisors, talking about what had been revealed in the Eluvian. After Varric had gotten the gist of it, he’d went in search of the Hawkes. He’d found Hawke herself first who had advised him briskly to not even dare try to speak to either of the elves for at least 48 hours. Hawke had also promised to do her best to avoid bloodshed, but stated she couldn’t make any firm guarantees. 

So he’d waited for Maria to come to bed, but she hadn’t. Eventually, as always, that meant he went looking for her. 

The garden was mostly empty. In fact, he would have thought it completely empty if not for the short glimpse of burnished auburn hair in the torchlight as Sebastian melted from one shadow to another. Varric ignored him, focusing instead on the welcoming patch of light outside the chapel door. 

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” Varric murmured as he stepped into the small space, eying the back of Maria’s head speculatively. 

“Well, you of all people should know better.” Maria teased, although her heart wasn’t quite in it. “Did I at least lead you on a good chase?”

“You’re losing your touch. This was only the second place I looked.” Varric said gently, taking in the scene before him. In front of the statue of Andraste, wreathed in flowers with a candle burning in her clasped hands, Maria sat cross legged, hands folded and still in her lap. 

Maria was many things. Still was rarely one of them.

“I’m trapped, to be completely honest. Vael’s waiting to ambush me as soon as I leave this room.” Maria admitted, craning her neck to look up into Andraste’s worn face.

“Is that why you came in here?” Varric asked, puzzled. 

“No.” She sighed, dropping her head back down to stare at her clasped hands. The mark was glowing in her palm, casting a green light on her face. “I feel like I’ve made so many mistakes, Varric. They say we’re ready to defeat Corypheus once and for all, but are we really? I’ve got some very dubious allies and a terrible feeling.”

“Is Andraste helping?” Varric asked. Maria huffed out a small laugh. 

“Not even a little bit. She’s a stone cold bitch, that’s what she is.” Maria muttered. Varric hoped Vael overheard it, he’d be scandalized for days. “Why do I feel like everything is about to go sideways?” 

“Nerves?” Varric suggested lightly. “You are getting ready to cast down a man that’s trying to be a god, Maria. Maybe you should… give yourself a break. You’re not perfect.” 

“Andraste was.” Maria shrugged her elegant shoulders. Varric rolled his eyes. 

“Maybe Andraste just had a very good storyteller.” He suggested with a wink. “I’ll write it so you were perfect, don’t worry.” 

“Will you tell them about us?” She asked with a small smile. 

“Not a word, Princess.” Varric swore, sitting down on the ground beside her and reaching for her hand. “This is ours and you’ve given enough of yourself. I’m not sharing any more of you.” 

Maria let the silence fall around them, comfortable and quiet. Then she sighed, closing her eyes and squeezing his hand.

“I cannot see the path.” She recited clearly. “Perhaps there is only abyss. Trembling, I step forward, in darkness enveloped.” 

“When did you learn some of the chant?” Varric asked, surprised. Maria grinned softly. 

“It would have looked terrible if I didn’t know any of it.” She confessed. “Mother Giselle has taken it upon herself to educate me. I like that bit.” 

“Well, I understand that.” Varric reached up, smoothed a section of her hair back and kissed her temple. “But when did you find the time?” 

Maria laughed, her head falling back. Varric squeezed her hand when he saw the laughter turn to tears, sitting in her lashes like diamonds. 

“I can’t see the path, Varric.” Maria admitted tearfully, turning her head into his shoulder. “What if I fuck up?” 

Varric didn’t have an answer. Instead, he pulled her to his side and laid his forehead against hers. 

“I’m with you. Until the end.” He promised. 

They ignored the shadow of Sebastian Vael as the prince of Starkhaven slipped guiltily away from their moment. 

 

The next morning started out typical. Maria was already awake, wearing one of his shirts as she perched on the edge of the bed talking to Josephine in a quiet, low voice. There was already a mug of coffee on his side of the bed even as he threw his arm over his eyes to block out the sunlight.

“Good morning.” Maria greeted with a sly smile.

“Master Tethras.” Josephine acknowledged as politely as if they’d met in a palace ballroom, the same way she did every morning. Leliana was more prone to light hearted teasing. Cullen rarely came up anymore, but when he did he stuttered and blushed so much it was hard to get through any report. 

“Ruffles.” He yawned, reaching for the coffee. “Thank you, as always.” 

“A pleasure.” Josephine purred, gathering her notes. “I will see you downstairs, Inquisitor?” 

“Momentarily.” Maria promised. Varric didn’t even wait for Josephine’s head to disappear down the steps before he reached out and pulled the red silk tunic. 

“This is stolen property, Inquisitorialness. What would the people think?” He asked playfully.    
“Maybe I should wear it to my meeting with Vael. What would he think?” She asked, flopping back on the bed with a thud. Varric allowed his hand to drift down her side to her bare thigh. 

“He’d be scandalized. I’d say you should do it. Probably why I’m not in charge of foreign policy.” Varric slid the tunic up higher, teasing. There was a small hitch in Maria’s breathing. 

“What are you in charge of?” Maria asked, rolling her hips in a sensuous, bewitching way. Varric grinned.

“Mischief and merriment.” He offered wickedly. Maria laughed, reaching for his wrist and pulling it away reluctantly. 

“Don’t start or I’ll be late. Again.” She half moaned, brushing her lips against his. “Later. I promise.” 

“I’ll hold you to that, Princess.” He let his fingers linger on her soft skin as she pulled away before he sank back into the sheets, watching as she stood, the light catching in her red hair and turning it into flames. 

It shouldn’t shock him that it all went to hell immediately afterwards. He’d just slunk down the steps when the sky tore itself in two again. Again. 

The flash of bright green light came first through the gilded windows behind Maria’s throne. Then a piercing scream that cut right through him as, he could only assume, her mark began the process of trying to kill her one more time. Everyone in the great hall was frozen, staring, at the whirling gray and green sky above them. 

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.” Iron Bull moaned from the table, an untouched mountain of eggs and waffles in front of him. Sera was next to him with half of a waffle in her mouth and her eyes as big as plates. “Again?” 

Varric was already turning without thinking, heading blindly towards her scream like it was his own. He could feel something burning in his own hand, blistering and hotter than molten metal. Then the door to Josephine’s office was thrown open and she stepped into the hall, the only thing moving in a sea of stillness as she looked up at the great windows. 

Behind her, Leliana, Cullen, and Josephine trailed like boats in her wake. Cullen reached out, his hand resting on her shoulder. “Inquisitor, we have no forces to send with you. You must wait for them to return from the Arbor Wilds.” 

“Corypheus knows I can’t risk waiting.” Maria said softly. 

“Are you alright?” Varric asked, even though he knew the answer. He knew it in the pained lines of her face, the harsh glimmer in her eyes. But she smiled, regardless, and held her unmarked palm out to him. 

“Still with me, Tethras?” She asked. 

“Always.” He answered, immediate. “Let me get Bianca and let’s go kick some ass.” 

Maria nodded, turning to Cullen. “All the soldiers we have are to stay here and hold the fortress if demons make their way here. If you can find Fenris, tell him I’ll need to see him.” 

“As you wish, Inquisitor.” Cullen nodded gravely, withdrawing his hand. 

“Leliana, a small team of your scouts to escort us back to Haven. They know the pass best.” Maria continued to murmur, her other hand clenching, the mark spitting. “There’s a letter in my room for my sister, if I don’t make it back…” 

“Yes, my friend.” Leliana disappeared in a sweep of fabric. 

“Josie, you’re in charge of the refugees and non-combatants. Try not to let anyone panic and if you need to evacuate, Fenris is in charge.” 

“Anything else my lady?” Josephine asked anxiously. Maria’s smile was hard as diamonds. 

“Tell Hawke that  _ now _ is actually the worst time to go into labor.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *stultus: idiot


	80. A Prince, A Wolf, and a Herald

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric somehow still finds time to take bets on when Hawke will go into labor. The Inquisitor reminds Sebastian, Fenris, and Varania that they all have one thing in common. Fenris admits a startling truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, we are *so close* to the end. I debated cramming Trespasser into this story, but I think I'll start a short sequel to this with the final moments of Inquisitor Cadash's story that doesn't feature Fenris and Varania quite as heavily. 
> 
> I'm hoping to finish up at an even 100 chapters. I promise Hawke will have the baby before the end!

The first time the sky split open, Fenris was walking through the muddy fields of Ferelden following Hawke’s crimson cloak with Lucia at his heels. 

The second time the sky was torn asunder, Fenris was overseeing drills in a muddy sparring yard. He knew there was something terribly wrong for only half a second before the sky lit up as green as the Inquisitor’s hand. A half a second where all the air seemed to still, where sound seemed to shrink into the distance. 

Then his markings were flickering uncontrollably in the sickly green light, magic burning across his skin like fresh brands. He let out a surprised grunt and looked up in sheer disbelief at the swirling hole in the world. 

“Maker have mercy.” One of the scouts muttered, rocking back on her heels. 

But it was his troops whose reaction was most telling. A harsh whisper across their ranks, wide elven eyes staring above them. He could hear whispers speaking of blood magic, of doom upon the world. 

“Arm yourselves.” Fenris commanded tersely, turning to the scout. “Commander Cullen, where is he?” 

“With the Inquisitor, Ser.” The woman responded, gaping up at the sky with tears in her eyes. “It’s Haven all over again!”

“You survived Haven, did you not?” Fenris demanded. “Tell the Commander my troops will man the walls.” 

The scout took off, Fenris looked at the woman beside him. “Get them to the walls. I will be there momentarily. As soon as I ensure my wife has not chosen now to have our child.” 

“Not sure it’s much of a choice, Ser.” The woman said neutrally. “Babies come when they please” 

That was exactly what Fenris was afraid of. 

 

Varania had, evidently, had the exact same thought. Despite Hawke’s reassurances, Varania had one hand wrapped tightly around Sabina’s arm and the other resting on Hawke’s abdomen. Fenris raised an eyebrow as he approached. 

“She’s not gone into labor yet.” Varania answered the unasked question immediately, hefting Hawke to her feet with no small amount of effort. “The day is young though, and there is already a hole in the sky, so anything can happen.” 

“It’s still better than Tevinter though, right?” Hawke asked cheerfully, eying the sky nervously. 

“The company is better. Marginally.” Varania answered. “And the chance of imminent death is about the same.” 

“Fenris, what is…” Hawke asked. 

“I am unsure.” He responded stiffly. “I came to make sure you were safely situated before anything else.” 

“You’ll take Sabina and go into the great hall. It will be where they put the refugees and those that cannot fight.” Varania’s voice was so calm it was almost eerie. And he has never been more grateful for something like her steadiness in this calamity. She could be deciding where they will eat their supper or discussing Sabina’s lessons. 

“I am not a  _ refugee _ .” Hawke spat between gritted teeth. 

“What you are is a woman who is very near her time.” Varania explained patiently. “And despite your prowess in battle, you would prove more distraction than boon. You are best suited to a last line of defense for the refugees.” 

It is much better done that Fenris would have been able to accomplish and it almost has Hawke backing down, one arm crossed over her stomach. “Reyna…” Fenris rumbled. 

“If you are not with Sabina, I cannot…” Varania began, then trailed off with a strangled sound in her throat. She cleared it and started again. “You carried her with me across Tevinter. You saved her. If you stay with her, Reyna, I can fight without fear.”

Hawke’s laughter was tinged with hysteria as her hand reached out, clutching Varania’s shoulder. “I told you if you came back without Fenris I’d never forgive you. You told me if I didn’t save Bina you’d never forgive me. Maker, I can hardly believe it. The start of a beautiful friendship.” 

“Are you going to threaten me again?” Varania asked, reaching down to gently touch Sabina’s head in reassurance as the girl whimpered and pressed herself into Varania’s skirt. 

“If either of you don’t come back, I’ll tear down the veil myself to find you rather than lose any more of my family.” Hawke swore, blinking back the start of tears. “I would be an awful widow and I refuse to lose one more sister.” 

Varania’s eyes widened in shock. Hawke leaned in closer, brushing her lips over Sabina’s cheekbone before bending slowly, reaching for Sabina. 

“C’mon pup.” Hawke said briskly. 

“No!” Sabina wailed, fists balling into her mother’s skirts. Varania sighed, dropping into a crouch and allowing Sabina to nestle into her arms. “Ego timeo, mama.” 

“I know. Scio.” Varania soothed gently. “And I have asked so very much from you, puella me fortes. I am so very proud of you.”

“Reyna…” Fenris called gently, one hand tugging her upright. 

“Don’t you  _ dare _ say anything that sounds remotely like goodbye or I swear Fenris…” She began, one hand lifting of its own volition to cup his cheek. Fenris turned into it, lifting his own palm to hold it there. 

“I cannot promise this is the last time I’ll ask you to be brave, Bina.” Varania continued to whisper softly. “Amica mea, we have come so very far. You’ll see that someday. You’ll be grown and strong. You will go on adventures of your own and frighten me to death, I’m sure.” 

“No, I’ll stay with you.” Sabina persisted stubbornly. Varania smiled softly, sadly. 

“I will not hold you to that promise, dulce meum.” Varania whispered. “Can you be brave for me again today, Bina? Stay with amita and I will come back for you as long as there is even one breathe in my body, I promise you.” 

“I could promise the same to you, Reyna.” Fenris whispered, his free hand resting on the swell of Hawke’s stomach. His child kicked as he pressed against her skin. His child, his wife, his sister, his niece. His  _ family _ . If someone had gone back ten years and told him all of this would be his, he would have laughed and called them a fool. Yet, here he was. 

“You better.” 

 

When they’d seen Hawke safely to the great hall, both Varania and Fenris climbed the battlements. Fenris peered into the great forest on the other side of the chasm, anxious.

“The Inquisitor is looking for you Ser. She’s with Commander Rutherford just over the gate.” One of the soldiers reported, inclining his head. Fenris nodded and took off. 

“Cullen’s in charge. Fenris is his second, here.” He heard Cadash before he saw her, lost as she was in the sea of humans. “If you don’t like it, now is an excellent time to go home.” 

“I am simply… surprised. It is not often an elf rises in an organization such as this.” Sebastian was speaking next to her, although both were still hidden in the ebb and flow of scouts and soldiers. 

“Fenris is a skilled warrior and has made himself into a rather trustworthy leader.” Cadash continued. “So if your men intend to stay and help hold this fortress, I’ll need your personal assurance Prince Vael that this isn’t going to cause an issue. I’ll expect them to listen to Fenris and if I come back and find they haven’t, I’ll be put out.” 

“Do you honestly expect to come back from that...thing?” Sebastian asked. The crowd had parted and Fenris was able to stalk to the Inquisitor’s side. She looked up from a map in front of her, meeting his eyes and waving him over. Varania followed silently at his side. 

“I have twice.” Maria stated firmly. “They say the third time’s the charm though. Did Hawke go into labor? I’ve got three gold on it happening before we close the hole in the sky again.” 

“Not yet. Will we get a share of these profits?” Fenris asked dubiously.

“Ask Varric, it’s his pool.” Cadash reached to her side, picking up a large envelope stuffed with papers and handing it to him. Underneath it was a much slimmer one. “These are yours.”

“What is it?” Fenris asked, bewildered and concerned. 

“Everything I have on the Breakers. I don’t know how much of it is useful or important, but something in there might help you if this goes south. You’ll still need to deal with them eventually, won’t you?” Cadash asked as if it were simple. “Sorry in advance if that’s all I’m able to give you. I hope you’ll let me off the hook.” 

Fenris dared a glance at Sebastian. He looked unsurprised, but still irritated. She must have told him before she handed them over what she intended to give him. Cadash followed his glance and smiled slightly back down at her map. “You can share them with the Prince if you wish. If I’d have had time to make copies, you both could have had it. As it was, I had to choose between who has been less of a tit.” 

“The other envelope?” Fenris asked, tucking them both under his arm.

“Everything I’ve gotten from Tevinter that mentions either of you.” Cadash muttered. “Not much. Nobody is really quite sure you were ever even in Tevinter so mostly it’s just wild rumors. There’s still a warrant out for Varania’s arrest for something about stolen property, but you’re actually assumed dead in the riots. Nothing about Sabina at all.” 

Fenris did not tell her Sabina was the stolen property. Neither did Varania. If the thought hadn’t actually crossed the Inquisitor’s mind that a person could be stolen property, well… perhaps that was the best. “Thank you.” Varania said stiffly. “I much prefer to remain dead in Tevinter if I can keep it that way.” 

“You do not plan to return.” Fenris observed. 

“Oh, if I have a choice I’m coming back.” Cadash tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. She was still favoring her shoulder just a bit, but it was hardly noticeable. “But you’re my contingency plan. Cullen and Leliana aren’t going to abandon Skyhold, they’ve worked too hard and seen too many battles to fail at the last second. Poor Josie can’t evacuate everyone alone, so if worst comes to worst the three of you need to get everyone out of here.” 

The three of them. Gray eyes swept from Varania, over Fenris, back to Sebastian. She raised an eyebrow as if inviting the argument. Fenris spoke first. “You expect us to trust him.” 

“Yes.” Cadash said simply. “If I don’t close the breach, you all have bigger problems than each other.” 

“I will not work with them after all they have done.” Sebastian said, voice low and dangerous.

“Fasta vass, we have done nothing.” Fenris growled. “Hawke has done nothing.” 

“You expect your general and spymaster to stand true, but for us to abandon you if you do not return.” Varania asked softly, her eyes focused on the Inquisitor. 

“I expect that the three of all you all have a vested interest in surviving for the sake of your children.” Cadash’s eyes were burning, angry as storm clouds. “For the love of the Maker, there’s a fucking hole in the sky again and a madman who’d rather destroy the word than admit he isn’t a god. There’s a little girl, an unborn baby, and an heir to a fucking city state still in diapers that need you all to shape up.”

Cadash took a deep breath, exhaled it in a sigh and jammed her finger up at the clouds. “I have lived through this once. That hole is raining demons down over what used to be Haven and I’ve got every reason to suspect they’ll be at these walls in hours. If we don’t stop it from growing, the breach is going to get larger and larger until it swallows the world.” 

“The last time you needed dozens of mages to assist you, did you not? You think to close it by yourself now?” Fenris asked softly. 

“It’s smaller now than it was. If I hurry...if I’m lucky enough and strong enough. Maybe.” Cadash looked down at her own hand, then back up at the sky. “I’ve gotten better at using this. Maybe it’ll be enough. If it isn’t… you all have someone to live for. Your lives shouldn’t end here and with luck, you can help the refugees and pilgrims escape too.” 

If Cadash died, if she never came back, Varric would die with her. Fenris almost said so, but he sensed that the thought wouldn’t please her. Only one thing would, and if the Inquisitor deserved anything for her willingness to throw herself at the impossible to  save them all, it was the thought that life would go on without her. 

“As you wish.” Fenris acquiesced. “I suspect you will return regardless to collect the silver I owe you, if nothing else.” 

Varania sighed, looking down into the courtyard below them. He could see her eyes were fixed on a rather familiar looking figure clad in shining silverite armor, booming orders at a small group of scouts. “I will do what I can.” She offered softly. 

Cadash turned her eyes to the Prince, raising her eyebrow in challenge. He looked down at her, both furious and frightened. “Flora once said that perhaps you were the very thing Thedas needed. An outside force to make us see we were eating ourselves in our vengeance.” 

“She sounds as if she was a smart woman.” Cadash’s eyes shimmered with guilt. “I am so sorry she is gone.” 

“We were supposed to do it together. Partners, friends. Take back Starkhaven, make the world a safe place for our child.” Sebastian continued, his voice cracking. “Now I cannot even look at the babe without seeing her mother. Without seeing everyone I have failed to save. It is like ripping a wound open each day.” Fenris averted his eyes from the glistening tears in the prince’s face. “Now you wish me to work with the people who did nothing to bring justice when they could? I once thought them my closest friends and now…” 

Sebastian trailed off helplessly, looking at the sky. “Is this the end of the world? Are you truly the Herald of Andraste?” He asked. 

“I don’t know the answer to either of those questions.” Cadash sighed, rubbing her forehead. 

“I believe she is.” The words were out of Fenris’s mouth before he could carefully measure the sound, the meaning. Sebastian turned, cerulean eyes burning. It was not a small admission, Sebastian of all people would know how large it was. “I believe Andraste sent her.” 

“She’s… and Varric...” Sebastian continued helplessly. 

“Would it not take an act of divine will to turn the dwarf from his crossbow?” Fenris asked sourly. 

Cadash snorted in amusement, her mouth covered quickly by her hand. Fenris shrugged in embarrassment. “Regardless. She can close the breach and save the world. This is her fortress. She is in charge.” 

There was silence in the chaos as Sebastian turned his gaze towards the dwarven woman. “Can you see the path?” He finally asked, his burr soft. 

Fenris did not understand it, but a flicker of bright emotion crossed Maria’s face. “There’s only one path forward now.” 

Sebastian nodded, his jaw tight. He looked over his shoulder at the man on his left. “We are under Commander Rutherford and Ser Hawke for the duration. Their orders are as mine.” 

The man saluted and turned on his heel, marching off. The Inquisitor’s shoulders relaxed as she rolled up the map. “May the Maker be with you, Inquisitor.” 

“And you, Prince Vael.” Cadash said simply. “Fenris, Varania.” 

“See that you come back. With Varric so that I may shake him down for the gold he owes us for this betting ring.” Fenris ordered. The Inquisitor smirked, extending her hand. Fenris hesitated for only a moment, ensuring that it was the hand that wasn’t sparking wickedly before he took it and grasped it tightly. 

“It’s been an honor.” Cadash offered. Fenris could think of nothing else to say. It was of little use to ask her to be careful when she was being sent to slaughter like a lamb. 

“Quizzie, we’re ready whenever you are. Let’s tear shite up, right?” Sera asked brightly from the stairs. “Got lots of arrows and you’ve got lots of baddies.” 

“I can’t ask you to come with me, Sera.” Cadash said, pulling away. “This is… different.” 

“The end, right?” Sera asked with a grin. “You didn’t ask. We wouldn’t miss the chance to shoot him right in his stupid face.” 

“Right.” Cadash said with a sigh. 

“Rainier’s waiting to see his ladybits before he goes.” Sera said slyly, eying Varania, then vanished in a flash of brightly colored fabric. 

Fenris looked back at Varania, saw the pink flush over her cheekbones and glared back after the elf. “He is a bit old for you, yes?” He growled. 

“It is not your business.” Varania sniffed, taking a halting step forwards before she stopped, turning to appraise the prince. “You will not always feel despair when you look at your daughter.” 

“Audrey.” Sebastian said quickly. 

“Audrey.” Varania repeated softly. “A lovely name.” 

Then she vanished, Cadash on her heels, and Fenris was left alone with Sebastian. The silence heavy between them. 

“I am surprised you did not name her Elthina.” Fenris finally offered. Sebastian’s lips quirked in a sad smile. 

“Aye. Flora said it was an old woman’s name and she wouldn’t saddle her with it. It is her middle name, Audrey Elthina Vael. Although Elthina would have been sorely disappointed I never returned to the chantry.” 

That was a lifetime ago, Sebastian’s endless worries of where he belonged. His crisis of faith. “You found your sister again.” The man observed. “And made peace with her.” 

“I did. I let her go too easily the first time. I have learned to hold better onto what means the most.” Fenris looked out over the mountains again. “And I have taken charge of men just as you always wanted.” 

“I took Starkhaven like you thought I should.” Sebastian pointed out. “I have tried to be a fair man, a just ruler.” 

“You hunted us.” Fenris accused.

“If Hawke had killed him, or allowed one of us to do it, my wife would still be alive.” Sebastian growled. “So many people dead because of him. Because Hawke couldn’t…” 

“If she had killed him, perhaps you would never have married. Perhaps you would never have taken Starkhaven and there would be no child of yours.” Fenris reasoned. “We cannot see the consequences of our decisions when we make them. We only stumble in the darkness like blind fools.” 

Sebastian sighed. “Perhaps there is only abyss. Trembling, I step forward. In  darkness, enveloped.” He recited softly, looking out at the breach. “Though all before me is shadow, yet shall the Maker be my guide.” 

Fenris wanted to believe the Maker was guiding them. He wanted it desperately. 

“Have you chosen a name?” Sebastian was still looking out over the expanse, mournful and face careworn. But there was something warm there, something Fenris had not heard since those last days in Kirkwall. Acceptance in Sebastian’s burr. 

“Elias for a boy. Esme for a girl.” Fenris paused, thoughtful. “But Varric calls the child fledgling and I am afraid it will stick.” 

“And have you been happy, Fenris?” Sebastian asked. 

“Strangely, I have.” Fenris admitted slowly. “In spite of it all. I had Hawke.”

“I was as well, strangely.” Sebastian admitted. “But Maker, I miss Flora and I… I don’t know what I will do.” 

“You need not be alone in this, Sebastian.” Fenris said slowly. “Hawke would forgive in a moment, it is her nature. You need not even ask for it.” 

“And you?” Sebastian asked. 

“Perhaps I have become more forgiving.” Fenris muttered. “Perhaps.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *ego timeo: I’m scared.   
> *scio: I know.   
> *puella me fortes: my brave girl  
> *amica mea: my love  
> *dulce meum: My sweet


	81. Hallelujah

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varania, Fenris, and Sebastian fight to keep Skyhold.

Baby, I have been here before  
I know this room, I’ve walked this floor  
I used to live alone before I knew you  
I’ve seen your flag on the marble arch  
Love is not a victory march  
_It’s a cold and it’s a broken hallelujah.  
_ **_Leonard Cohen - Hallelujah_ **

 

_He hadn’t recognized her when he first saw her in the market, not in that first meandering glance as he’d walked. She’d been in Qarinus, what, a week? Perhaps two? For the first time in a long time, she felt invincible. Perhaps it was simply her time to be reckless and invincible. Aren’t all young women impervious to damage at twenty-two?_

_She had been through the worst, so she thought, and she had survived. It mattered little that she had survived in slivers and shard, completely alone with nothing but painful memories and a crushed heart. She had survived._

_Then she met Nico’s dark eyes across the market and they slid across her without seeing for a moment while her heart stuttered in her chest. Then, they were pulled back to her like magic. The magic that was both her curse and her strength. She could not hear him across the market, but she saw his lips move and her name fall from them._

_“You have changed.” He told her once sadly as they hid in plain sight, meandering among the crowded dock workers while Nico pretended to count goods in his ledger. “I wish I could hear you sing again.”_

_Varania could not help the rising panic as she looked quickly away from his dark eyes, unreasonably frightened that she would see them frosty, cold blue instead. “I cannot.” She stuttered, wrapping her arms tightly around herself even though there was no chill in the air. “I cannot.” She repeated._

_“Hush.” Nico said softly, reaching out to gently let his fingertips brush the back of her hand. “It is alright. Maybe you’ll sing again, but if you never do it does not matter. It will be your choice in the end.”_

_Varania wished she’d been able to sing for him when she realized he was dying. But the words and melody stuck in her throat and became a silence at home in a graveyard._

 

“My dear, are you quite alright?” Vivienne asked, jarring her from the memories. She was standing on the stairs, looking into the courtyard. The other woman was two steps below her, but still roughly Varania’s height with those ridiculous heels. “Come quickly. We split the supplies in Skyhold. Unfortunately, nobody really thought to hurry with the restocking, but there are no mages with skill useful in battle here beyond us.”

Us. Varania looked past her to Solas and Dorian, wrapping little glass vials carefully in packs. Varania could see their blue glow from the vials as she followed Vivienne down the last steps. “Now, Fiona will demand some of your supply, but darling she’s ancient. Keep her back with whatever apprentices you deem worthy of assisting, although none beyond you should be in the front line. They can focus on wards and barriers. I’d recommend giving Fiona no more than a third of the lyrium we’re giving you. Her heart probably can’t hold up to it.” Vivienne advised deftly.

“This bag has healing supplies and stamina potions.” Solas said tersely. “Hand them out as soon as possible, you will be too busy to do so if the fortress is attacked.”

“And we’ve stolen some of Sera’s concoctions. They all explode, so make sure whoever is throwing them is aiming quite far away.” Dorian added, pressing another pouch into her hand. “They’re alchemy, not magic, so nobody needs to be worried about ill effects unless they’re too close when they explode.”

“Am… am I in charge of the mages?” Varania asked, trying to keep the trepidation from her voice.

“Such as they are, since all beyond the old and young are in the Arbor Wilds.” Solas muttered darkly.

“You are the only one with battle experience here beyond Fiona. Not only is she a bit older than ideal, she also very much doesn’t get along with Cullen. But Cullen trusts Fenris, and Fenris trusts you. So, yes, you are in charge by default. We’d celebrate your promotion, but alas, hole in the sky and all.” Dorian said with a feigned air of nonchalance. “Good luck with everything.”

“But Morrigan…” Varania was very nearly unable to say the woman’s name.

“With us. She’s got some sort of plan to defeat the Archdemon.” Vivienne sniffed disdainfully.

“To be fair, she is the only one with Archdemon slaying experience.” Dorian reasoned.

Solas scoffed. Varania agreed with the silent sentiment. Morrigan could not be trusted. At the very least, however, Varania was pleased she wouldn’t have to manage the woman.

“Rainier is getting the horses ready.” Dorian said softly, kindly. His dark eyes flicked to hers and then away, embarrassed. “I have to say, I certainly think he’s started smelling better since he determined to impress you. Perhaps we all owe you a favor.”

“Perhaps we should wait to decide that until after the world isn’t swallowed whole?” Vivienne asked.

“Ah, yes. Well, if we come back and Skyhold is still standing we’ll all go out and have a pint.” Dorian said grandly. “We’ll even find some proper wine. Then go shoot lightning bolts at people who’ve annoyed us.”

 

“He feels naked without the name on his armor, but now he knows you want to see him naked.” A voice muttered from the corner as she entered the stable. The boy was on the stairs, examining his knives curiously.

“Cole.” She greeted warily.

“If he knew, it wouldn’t matter. The rain doesn’t need to wash you clean, you already were.” The boy’s pale eyes looked up and he smiled shyly, hopefully. “The songs are still inside you. They’d love to hear them, but it’s okay if they don’t.”

Varania’s throat felt as if it had swollen shut, she blinked at the boy. He continued to smile at her, warm as the sun in the afternoon. Finally, she found her voice. “How do you know that?” She asked, her voice small.

“Green eyes. Green like gardens, like growing, gleaming. Gentle and grave. She dreams of green eyed babies that join a flock of hawks.”

“Hawks don’t have flocks.” Varania said immediately.

“She does.” Cole answered. “And wolves have packs, he knows that now. There were three, then two, finally only one. Two again, then four. Five soon. Someday six? I saw a sweet and seemly sight, a blissful bird a...”

“Blossom bright.” Varania whispered. “The song that mama used to sing when she did the wash.”

“She was so frightened. For you. Of you. It was unfair, but she didn’t mean to love you badly.” Cole looked away from his daggers, reaching one closed hand out. When his fingers uncurled, Varania very nearly fainted.

In Cole’s hand were the blue glass beads she’d been carrying for years, strung onto a bracelet with an assortment of other beads, green ones like Sabina’s eyes, like Leto’s eyes. Shining silver ones almost as bright as silverite armor. A bright red one as vibrant as a ribbon on a gauntlet. Dark shining onyx pieces that reminded her of Nico’s endless eyes. “I finished it for you.”

“Cole?” Thom asked, rounding the corner. “Maker’s balls, lad. Leave the poor woman alone.”

“No.” Varania breathed, reaching out with cupped hands. Cole gently deposited the bracelet in her hands. “Perfectum est. Gratias tibi, id adheo mihi.”

“I know.” Cole said serenely. “Maria is looking for me. Goodbye and good luck.”

Cole was gone in the blink of an eye, leaving Varania clutching the cool beads in her hand and fighting back the burning tears in her eyes.

“My lady, are you alright?” Thom asked, voice warm with concern. “He’s not a bad sort, but the things that come out of his mouth…”

“He was very thoughtful.” Varania ran her fingers over the beads, smooth and infinitely precious. “I’ll cherish this.”

“Well, then he’s much better to you than to me. Once, he told me I needed a hairbrush for the inside of my head.” Thom scowled playfully at the beads in her hand. “Should I go challenge him to a duel for your favor?”

Varania laughed, shaking her head as he gently folded her fingers around the bracelet. “No, my favor is not lost for a trinket.”

“I would expect nothing less.” Thom’s face was mournful as he brought her closed fist to his lips. She felt the warmth of his breath as he gently kissed her knuckles. “I must go with her, I promised her I would…”

“I know.” Varania interupted. “You promised the Inquisitor you would be by her side when she faced this belua. You are a man of your word, I would not expect you to break it.”

“I saddled Tyrus. If things go wrong, he’s here waiting for you my lady. He’s a steady horse, he’ll carry you and Bina through.” He offered simply. “It’s not much, but it’s the least I could do to see the two of you  safe.”

“She’ll be cross with you if you do not return.” Varania tried to ignore the shake in her voice. “We both will be.”

“Well, I can’t have that, can I?” Thom whispered, smiling against her skin. “I want… I need more time with you.”

More time. Varania was used to enduring, gritting her teeth and waiting impatiently for the worst to pass. She had never wished so longingly for _more_ of anything. But yes, she needed more too. There were so many things her brother still could not remember of her, their mother, their childhood. So many things she had not seen Sabina do. And yes, so many more moments of this. Of Thom looking down at her like she was beautiful, as if she was perfect. Varania yearned for these things, these precious golden things.

“Then come back.” Varania demanded. “Be victorious and come back to us.”

Thom’s lips quirked. “As you wish, my lady.” He drawled, pulling her closer to him. She had never been pressed up against the metal of his breastplate, never felt cold steel under her fingers instead of warm cotton. Still, she could not find it in her heart to begrudge the sharp bite of the metal as he pressed her towards him.

“I love you.” He whispered devoutly as she had heard the chant whispered. “These last six months with you, with you and Bina, have meant more to me than entire years. I love you both more than anything in this world or the next.”

Varania could not help the mist that clouded her eyes. She swayed into him, tossing her clenched fists around his neck and pulling him to her, fingers tangling in his thick dark hair. Her name was a strangled moan in his throat before she crashed her mouth to his, swallowing the breathless noises he made. Once again, his arms were around her waist, lifting her clear from her feet. He pulled away from her first and she rested his forehead against his. “Credo in caritate propter vos iterum.”

“I’m not sure what that was, but I liked how it sounded.” Thom admitted, almost shy as they locked eyes.

“Amica mea.” She whispered gently. “I love you as well. I knew it the damned moment you stepped foot on the gallows and the Inquisitor couldn’t stop you. You foolish man. Stulti et fortis.”

At that, he laughed. “Now, I know that wasn’t nearly as nice.”

“Promise me you will come back. Make me believe you.” Varania challenged, her own burning eyes reflected back at her in the abyss of Thom’s dark ones.

“Varania, if you would have someone as broken as me, I’d return to you no matter the cost.” He swore fiercely.

“There are things you don’t know. About Tevinter, about me.” She pressed.

“They don’t matter, my lady. I’ll be here if you want to tell me, but if you never want to speak of that damned place again, it can rot.” He growled softly.

Varania felt the last of the chains fall away.

 

She stood beside Fenris as the Inquisitor left the main gate, eyes fixed not on her but on the shining armor on her flank. She was not shocked when he looked up to catch a last glimpse of her, nor could she help the small smile that flickered over her lips. She was even able to ignore Fenris’s sigh.

What she couldn’t ignore, as she watched the Inquisitor and her best set off, was the glowing green hole pulsing above them. Large enough to swallow them all whole. If she stared too long, she could almost see teeth in the clouds that were gnashing in hunger. Rocks and debris rose into the air as if the crust of the Earth were being drawn into it and she could see what she thought was a dragon circling it.

“Are you frightened?” Fenris asked quietly, voice low and soft.

“I’m not insane. Who could look at this and say they are not?” She asked, tightening her grip on the sword hilt in her palm. “I am not ready to leave this world yet. I have yet to meet your child or see what woman Sabina becomes. Are you not frightened?”

“I am glad you are beside me.” Fenris admitted.

At the end of the world, Varania thought wryly, her brother could still not admit to fear. Yet, she knew what he meant the way she had always known what he hid behind his words. “I am proud to stand with you. There is so much that has been stolen from us, I am grateful to have had time to know you again.”

Fenris looked at her wrist, the hilt clenched in her hand, the beads circling her slender wrist. There were strong emotions flitting across his face. Varania did not have a chance to catch them before she felt a small hand on her elbow.

“I want to help.” Rose pleaded.

“No.” Fenris growled. Rose flinched back, her fingers digging into Varania’s elbow harder, staring into her eyes.

“I can help here. I can stand back and take the wounded to the other apprentices. I want to be with you. I want to help.” Rose stood firm. Varania reached for the girl’s hand, peeling her fingers from her flesh.

“Alright.” Varania acquiesced. “But you must listen to us and do as you’re told.”  

“I will.” Rose promised, nodding her pale head. “I will.”

Varania ignored Fenris’s sigh again.

 

She heard the demons before she saw them, felt them in the very air. Magic burned across her skin like burns and a screech rippled through the trees. She saw Fenris tense on her left and heard a gentle order far to her right. “Archers, ready.”

“Have you fought many demons?” Fenris asked tersely.

“No.” Varania admitted. “I tried not to consort with them myself.”

“Small things to be thankful for.” Fenris snarled as the trees on the other side of the chasm swayed. Varania could smell smoke. “Ready yourself.”

Then the trees burst open, a massive creature of lighting and rocks striding forward with a sound that was almost laughter. Varania very nearly recoiled. “Maker have mercy.”

“Maker, my enemies are abundant.” The prince whispered from her right. “Many are those who rise up against me. But my faith sustains me; I shall not fear the legion.”

“This.” Fenris said, drawing his blade. “I have not missed, Vael.”

The creature stepped onto the bridge, followed by a green and vile figure that screeched again. At her fingers, the blade burst into life. “FIRE!” The prince roared, and a blanket of arrows darkened the sky. Then there was a roar from their side and a wraith appeared where a soldier had stood.

The battle for Skyhold had commenced.

 

_Varania remembered the first time she had seen a demon. It was the third time she had been called to Corix’s rooms. The smell of blood hung heavy in the air as she stood over a basin, mute and exhausted. She was so weak she was limp in Corix’s arms as he dragged the blade from her sternum down to her navel. Then he twisted her arms behind her. She had hoped that this would be the day he finally finished her off. Instead, her blood had fallen into the basin and he had whispered old words behind her. Words she only barely understood. Then the blood had boiled and something horned and scaly had shimmered into existence. Varania had been too frightened to look at it. She had closed her eyes and prayed instead that he would not put it inside her, not that, anything but that…_

_Instead, that had been the final time she'd limped from Corix's room and hid in the closet until Leto came to find her. Two days later, she had held her breath and watched with mounting dread as Leto faced men and women, armed with nothing to lose._

_When one of the blades had slashed Leto's through the cheap chain mail of his armor and his blood had spilled, her heart had leapt to her throat and she had thought she'd see the demon shimmer into life beside him and tear his heart from his chest._

_Varania had spun her mana into a thread so fine she hoped that the Magister would not even see it and delved into the wound. Leto stiffened but did not break his concentration. And when the woman he fought fell, he turned to look at her in the crowd. She had her knuckles pressed to her lips to hold the scream back._

_She realized at that moment they had nothing to lose but each other._

 

Varania wished she did as well with flames as Reyna seemed to. It would have helped immensely with the despair demon shrieking and sending dangerously sharp shards of ice their way. But like the despair demon, she had always done better with ice herself. At least, she consoled herself, it was quite unlikely any of the demons on the ground would move past the ice mines and wards she had set down below.

The consolation didn't quite last past the next volley of ice.

“Allow me to assist.” Sebastian offered gallantly, holding out an arrow. “A light, if it pleases you?”

“I wish you entirely more luck than I am having, your majesty.” Despite her sarcasm, the prince shot her a bright smile. Varania held out her fingers, stroking the arrows tip with one finger. Flame trailed behind it, a wisp of smoke rising into the air.

She tried not to be impressed when the prince stood and turned, body taut as his bow sting. He took aim in only a half a second, the arrow flying free and landing perfectly in the gaping maw of the demon. It dropped with a thud to the ground and Varania's shoulders sagged in small relief.

“I have another in my sight!” He exclaimed, holding another arrow out to her. Varania ignited it with a pointed look before launching her own volley of cracking ice at a wraith closing in on Fenris.

She was so focused on that, she missed the incoming projectile that thudded into the leather armor of the Prince of Starkhaven, a shard of ice like a blade that pierced flesh. The man only drew in a hissing breath, reaching for it as he dropped to his knees.

“Do not pull it out!” Varania ordered immediately at the same time as a Starkhaven scout dropped to his knees beside the prince. “Rose!” She called.

“Your highness!” The other man breathed in, eyes wide.

“I’ve had worse shaving, cannae believe it?” Sebastian said wryly. “At your post, man.”

The scout shot her a disbelieving glance, but Varania simply nodded. “It is not as bad as it seems, especially if I heal it now.”

“Milady.” Rose whispered, crouching down behind her.

“Elfroot potion, Rose. That would be the red one.” Varania instructed, sliding over to the Prince and reaching for the ice. “Once I pull this out, it’ll bleed like a stuck pig.” She warned.

“I am sure I am in good hands.” Sebastian offered, diplomatically enough. “Bit concerned that you have to tell your assistant which color  the healing potion is, but I’ve let Hawke stitch me up enough times to risk it.”

Varania ripped the ice free and immediately brought her palm to the wound as blood gushed through her fingers, warm and sticky, smelling of iron and salt. The leather was quickly becoming saturated with it as Varania tossed the ice to the side. “Rose!” She yelled, pulling the mana to her fingers. “Potion, now!”

“Milady, you don’t have to.” Rose’s voice was soft, frightened. Varania spared an irritated glance over her shoulder. Rose had the potion in her fingers, but was looking down at the stones. When she finally looked up, her eyes were burning with righteous indignation. “He’s hunting your family, is he not? You don’t have to heal him, he’s your enemy. You could let him die.”

The din of battle quieted around her. All she could see was Rose’s blue eyes, feel the warm blood seeping through Sebastian’s wound. She could let him die. She had done worse for Sabina, how could she not justify doing _this_ for Fenris and Hawke? They’d be safe, free to settle wherever they chose. She could plead it was an accident, a wound worse than she thought.

She’d orphan a girl not even a year old.

“Vishante kaffas, that is not how we handle our problems here.” She wasn’t sure how the words made it out of her mouth, it felt too dry and like it was stuffed with cotton. The noise of the battle, steel and the cries of men and women, had returned as Varania reached her free hand back and snatched the potion from Rose, uncorking it with practiced ease and putting it to the Prince’s mouth. “Drink this, to replace the lost blood as I heal the wound.”

She could not ignore the way the Prince’s blue eyes rested like weights on her face, measuring and evaluating as she called power to her fingers. “Rose, get back to the apprentices. Now.” Varania ordered, watching the wound close under her fingers. She did not look back to ensure Rose had left before she flicked her eyes up to the Prince. “Forgive her, she is young and has been through much.”

“Seems I was even in better hands than I knew.” The prince replied shrewdly.

Before Varania could reply, something shrieked from behind and below her. Inside the keep, beyond the walls. Varania’s blood ran cold as she stood quickly, looking down the steps as a long, lanky demon with a face full of teeth screeched at the sky.

“Go!” Sebastian said, pushing her away. “Stop it!”

Varania did not need to be told twice. The apprentices deemed old enough to be out supporting the battle had scattered at the creatures approach, all except a boy who dangled from it’s claws, his screams ringing in hear ears. Once, Varania had seen a man disemboweled in the Munera. He had made the same haunting, piercing cry. Fiona had been cast down, her face in the mud. Varania could not tell if the woman was breathing or not.

“Vadat!” Varania cried at the creatures back, summoning a blizzard in one clenched fist, her blade in the other. The creature looked at her, if one could look without eyes. But she knew it saw her, because she heard it in her head.

 _Striga._ It whispered contemptuously in her mother’s voice. _You will die alone._

Maybe, Varania thought as the creature dropped the boy. He didn’t move as the thing screeched to the heavens again. She could not ignore the effect the demon had, the terror welling up in her gut. Still, she didn’t hesitate when it lunged, spinning away from its talons and leaving a wall of ice in her wake as she swung her blade, just missing it’s arm.

 _You are not forgiven. You can never be forgiven._ The creature continued to taunt, it’s voice in her ears alone. _Your daughter will pay for your sins in her blood. They’ll bleed her and break her and there is nothing you can do._

Varania stabbed and the creature rolled, then vanished. She did not allow herself to be disoriented, casting a barrier and spinning just in time to see it shatter under the demon’s claws. She didn’t move in time to prevent the great sharp claws slashed against her rib cage. Deep, perhaps to the bone. She stumbled back, hand at her side and bringing the blade up just in time to prevent the same vicious points from sinking into her neck. The creature roared back, smoking from the contact, but the force of the impact had brought Varania to he knees. Varania spared a look at her fingers, seeing the blood running over them as if they were someone else’s.

_Was it worth it, striga? You have been strong for so long. No demons could tempt you. You never considered blood magic. You could haze razed the imperium to the ground if you gave in. You still could._

Varania knew the cost. She had seen it. She was not tempted as a girl and she was not tempted now. She thrust upward, her blade sinking into the creatures leg and emerging from the other side. It roared in agony and distress, stumbling backwards before she could dislodge the blade. As soon as the hilt left her hand, the blade ceased to exist, the hilt tumbling uselessly to the dirt. She reached for it, but the demon was faster, swiping out powerfully and tossing her like a rag doll several yards away. She hit her head, hard, off the ground. So hard, she almost forgot where she was. She could hear her mother singing in her head.

 

You say I took the name in vain  
I don’t even know the name  
But if I did, well really, what’s it to you?  
There’s a blaze of light in every word  
It doesn’t matter which you heard  
_The holy or the broken hallelujah.  
_ Hallelujah. Hallelujah.

 

She pushed herself from the ground, palms scraped raw in the dirt, trembling. The demon was advancing, slow and predatory. She cast another barrier, watched it dissolve as the thing screamed.

I did my best, it wasn’t much.  
I couldn’t feel, so I tried to touch.  
I’ve told the truth, I didn’t come to fool you.  
And even though it all went wrong  
_I’ll stand before the lord of song  
_ With nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah.

 

Varania took a deep, shaky breath and called ice to her palm. There was a buzzing in her skull and she thought she could hear someone calling her name. The name came to her lips at the same time as the great sword crashed into the demon’s’ middle with all the power of the heavens and earth. Varania nearly laughed as his name tumbled from her lips. “Leto.”

The demon roared, but it had doubled over long enough for the sword to cleave it’s macabre head from its body. It dissolved into green gasps of light and smoke as Fenris grabbed her arm, crouching beside her. “I am here. I am here, I have you.”

One arm swung around her waist, hauling her to her feet. She was bleeding all over his gauntlets. He had taken a blow to the face, his lip was split. She grasped at her mana, directed it to the deep slashes as he kept her upright.

Above them, something cracked like lightning. Their eyes were both drawn to the breach, to the spinning tower of green light spiraling towards it. It faltered, dimming. Then sprang to life again with such fury it was nearly brighter than the breach itself.

There was a thunderclap such as she had never heard before, the clouds scattering in all different directions. On the walls, the demons and wraiths were melting into the green light, spinning into the ether from whence they’d come as a gust of wind blew past them, nearly took their breath away. And, above them, the sky was whole.

“She did it.” Fenris breathed, pulling her waist even tighter to him in something like awed disbelief. “She actually accomplished it.”

If her throat was not so raw, so choked with tears, Varania could have sang. Instead, she clutched at Fenris’s breastplate and released a sound that was half sob, half laugh, as a cheer went up along the wall.

“Hallelujah.” She whispered, bringing a bloodstained hand up to her mouth. “Hallelujah.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *perfecturm est. Gratias tibi, id aheo mihi: It’s perfect. Thank you, it means so much to me.  
> *belua: monster  
> *Credo in caritate propter vos iterum: I believe in love again because of you.  
> *amica mea: my love  
> *stulti et fortis: you brave fool  
> *vadat: let him go


	82. Can't Help Falling in Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The world doesn't end. Maria turns her focus to helping Fenris and Sebastian find Anders.

__Wise men say only fools rush in,  
But I can’t help falling in love with you  
Shall I stay?  
Would it be a sin?  
If I can’t help falling in love in love with you  
Can't Help Falling in Love With You - Ingrid Michelson 

Varric thought they were doomed when Morrigan fell. There was nothing quite as alarming as two rather large dragons falling onto the rocks that had been Haven and were now floating rather precariously in the sky as they raced after Corypheus. 

“Why does nothing normal  _ ever _ happen to you, yeah?” Sera whined, the only one of them to make a sound. 

“I used to have normal days.” Maria scowled up at the sky, then down at Morrigan. “She needs help. That damned dragon is still  _ alive _ somehow.” 

“You have to keep going.” Dorian argued. He was several steps below Maria, making them nearly the same height. “If you don’t stop it, this will get worse before it gets better.” 

True. Maria bit her lip, considering. “Don’t put yourself at risk unnecessarily.” She begged. 

“I’m far too handsome to die and you’re far too clever.” Dorian said grandly with a grin that was broad. “Do take care not to make a mess.” 

“For you, Dorian, anything.” The corner of her mouth lifted, a crooked and sad smile as Dorian leaned forward, kissed her cheek. “Take everyone with you except Cassandra, Solas, and Varric. It’s a damn big dragon, Corypheus is tiny in comparison.”

Corypheus was a wild card. For all they knew, he could have another fucking dragon up his ass. It was his magic that had torn the sky in half again. But, in a swoop, Maria had sent most of her friends away from the worst of the danger. As the rest began to descend back towards the dragon, she took a deep breath.

“I won’t make any of you come.” 

Cassandra scoffed, readying her shield and turning on her heel to glare up towards the sky. “I am with you no matter the obstacle. The Maker will be with us.” 

“Think of it as your inevitable revenge. She forced you up here the first time, didn’t she?” Varric asked, nudging her shoulder. 

“I am where I need to be.” Solas said simply with an elegant shrug. “I would not abandon you now.” 

“And you won’t leave.” Maria stated calmly, eyes flicking to his as she gripped her bow. 

“Do you remember that first poem in your glove, Princess?” 

The question made her flush pink underneath the dirt and grime. It even made Cassandra duck her eyes, embarrassed, color rising to her ears. Maria swallowed, reaching her free hand out and gently touching his shoulder. 

“I am trapped between the space of your ribs.” She recited by heart, voice as warm as the mulled ale she liked best. “You can hear all I have to say in the sound your heartbeat makes.” 

Varric spared a second for a searing kiss, pressing it against her red lips in a way that was desperate, too much, not nearly enough. It was every kiss they’d already shared, every kiss lingering in the future. Every cup of ale and game of cards. 

“I am lost in your eyes. And don’t want to be found.” Varric finished. “After you, Maria.” 

Before she turned back to the stairs, she raised one hand to gently stroke down the line of his jaw. “I kept it under my pillow for awhile.” She teased. 

“Of course you did. It was a damned masterpiece.” Varric chuckled, hoisting the crossbow over his shoulder.

“At the end of the world, is this really appropriate?” Solas asked with a weary sigh. 

“Now or never, right?” Maria threw a cocky grin over her shoulder. 

None of them missed the bright sheen of fear simmering under the gray. 

 

The second time Varric thought the end was nigh was when, after another green fletched arrow hit home in Corypheus’s shoulder, he grabbed the orb they’d been chasing in his hand and held it aloft. It glowed as red as the lyrium embedded in his skin and he cursed, calling down Dumat and ancient evils upon them. The orb sparked and glowed, burning brilliant red. 

Then green sparked from within it and Maria dropped the arrow she’d been holding in her left hand, green sparking from her right as she clutched the bow tightly. Sparking quicker, brilliant. The orb pulsing and the green overpowering the red. 

Like recognizing like, he’d think later. Maria’s mark summoning the power from Corypheus for her own use. 

But, at the moment, all he could do was watch, stunned, as the orb slammed backward through Corypheus’s chest, landing in Maria’s outstretched left hand. Corypheus fell to his knees, gaping hole smoking. And still, fucking somehow, alive. 

But that was less important than Maria caught in the green glow of the orb in her hand. It turned her skin ghostly, like she was a corpse under the fallow mire. 

“Inquisitor!” Cassandra called, desperate. It snapped Maria out of whatever trance she had found herself in as she stared at the glowing object, causing her gray eyes to focus back on the sky. 

Slowly, Maria stepped forward, right hand out and sparking. A thin beam of light emerged from her palm, spearing upwards towards the sky like a javelin, arching and spinning. Brilliant, beautiful, but not enough. The light in Maria’s palm flickered and an expression crossed her face. 

Resignation, Varric thought suddenly. A woman who had reached the final choice in a long, difficult line of choices. The light in her palm was dimming, the light of the orb was  _ shining _ . Maria looked to her left, her eyes met his. 

“I love you.” He couldn’t hear her over the roar of the breach, the snapping of the power she held in both palms, over his own raging heartbeat in his ears. But he knew the way her mouth formed the words, had coaxed them from her lips with kisses and poetry and her favorite things. 

“Maria!” He yelled, taking a quick two steps forward. But Cassandra was beside him, gripping his arm hard and hauling him back. 

Gently, Maria Cadash placed the orb from her left hand to her right. 

Varric felt the world tear apart, heard it cracking right through his very bones and teeth. The light was blinding, turning the figure caught within it to nothing more than a facsimile of a statue of Andraste, her hands outstretched, holding a bowl of flames. 

“MARIA!” He screamed, even though he couldn’t hear himself over the noise. The wind was whipping past them, wild as being caught in the center of a dragon’s maelstrom. The light was growing, building, and with a great roar above them the breach slammed closed. 

The sky began to fall, the ground he was on was cracking, but the light was receding. And in the middle of it, the orb dropping from smoking fingers… 

“You wanted in the damned fade so badly.” Varric could never quite be sure if the woman who dropped the orb was actually Maria or not. It must have been, he would write it that way. But the green light clinged to her, made her as ethereal as a wraith. Her eyes glowed brilliantly like one of Sera’s poisonous conconctions and her hand glowed more than he had ever seen it as she held it up in front of her. “Then fucking go the old fashioned way, you bastard.” 

The light was dissolving Corypheus, burning him like acid, and he was screaming. The world was falling, rocks crashing around them. The piece of ground Varric was standing on was dropping at a steep angle, Cassandra was reeling backwards with her grip on him still sure and steady. 

That was the third time Varric Tethras thought he would die that day. 

 

When the dust settled, Varric shoved himself up off the ground and onto his knees. Beside him, Cassandra rolled onto her side with an audible groan, reaching for ribs that were almost certainly cracked. A great cloud of debris was slowly settling over the rocks, the pieces of the temple of Sacred Ashes. Varric could hardly see through it, felt it catch in his lungs until he coughed. 

“Varric?” Someone called. He couldn’t respond with anything other than a cough, but it didn’t matter. Rainier was looming over them in the darkness, taking in their appearance.

“Got Tethras and the Seeker!” He yelled over his shoulder. He heard several answering murmurs. Voices he could only distantly pick up. Sera and Cole he thought. 

“The Inquisitor, Solas…?” Cassandra asked. 

“Still looking. Everyone else, miraculously, accounted for.” Rainier’s tone was solemn. “What in the Maker’s name happened up there?” 

A fucking good question, Varric thought, staggering to his feet. His voice was rough in his ears as he staggered forward. “Maria!” 

The only sound in response was his voice echoing back to him. Now he could understand the voices, Vivienne calling for Solas, Dorian shouting Maria into the air. Iron Bull calling ‘Boss!’ Cole muttering unendingly under his breath… 

“Maria!” Varric called again, staggering to steps that led to something jagged up top. 

“Quizzie!” Seria’s voice sounded choked with tears. 

“For the love of Andraste’s tits, can everyone stop yelling? My head is  _ killing _ me.” 

He laughed until he started hacking on the dust again, staring up at the top of the stairs. Her hair had fallen lose around her shoulders and she was dirty, grimy, her cheekbone scraped up and part of her armor ripped away. She looked like she’d gone through hell, but she was smiling wearily as she sat on the steps, resting her arms on her thighs and looking up at the sky. 

“You’re alive.” Dorian gasped in wonder from behind him. When Varric turned to look, he could see everyone except Chuckles. 

“Of course I’m alive.” Maria answered flippantly, rolling her shoulders and wincing. “I’m too clever to die, remember?” 

“Solas?” Cassandra asked tentatively. Maria sighed and looked over her shoulder with drawn brows. 

“The orb is gone and he’s pretty broken up about it, but fine. Leave him be for a couple minutes.” Maria advised. This broke the remaining tension and Sera let out a whoop of joy, running up the steps and throwing herself into Maria’s lap, long arms wrapped around her neck. 

“What a novel result. Untainted victory.” Morrigan mused, one of her own arms wrapped protectively around her middle. “What will you turn your attention to now, Inquisitor?”

“I’m fighting the temptation to sit my fine dwarven ass right here until Leliana comes and gets me.” Maria leaned back on her hands, closing her eyes. “Then, we get the kind of drunk where we end up with Cullen naked running back to the barracks. Again.” 

“Well, in that case, count us in.” Dorian said charmingly. “Except for the getting dragged back by the Nightingale. Rise and shine, Inquisitor.” 

“I will get Solas.” Cassandra said simply, hopping up the stairs. Maria sighed, shoving Sera from her lap before standing up herself. She moved gingerly down the steps, as if she was bruised all over. Varric couldn’t wait for her to descend the last one herself, wrapping one arm around her waist and dragging her to the bottom. 

“You know, nobody is going to believe this.” Varric surmised, tucking a piece of stained red hair behind her ear. 

“That’s how you know it’s true.” Maria whispered, pressing a gentle kiss against the edge of his mouth, her hand resting on his chest as if she was counting heartbeats. 

And the only downside was when Cassandra came down the steps, shaking her head, and Maria scowled. 

“I’ll find him. Later.” She promised. “And I’ll kick his ass for doing this a second time.” 

 

They realized Skyhold had not been left untouched right when they came over the rise. Varric heard Maria’s sharp intake of breath, felt the sudden unease that settled over the group. The walls were scorched and there was a curl of smoke rising lazily into the air. Several places were missing pieces of stone altogether. 

“I just finished almost all the repairs.” Maria began mournfully. “Except for Cullen’s fucking roof.” 

“It’ll be fine, Princess.” Varric soothed. “I wasn’t particularly fond of the finished product. I think you should have went with the Orlesian limestone instead.” 

“Do you think everyone survived?” Cassandra asked darkly. 

“The flag is still flying.” Vivienne observed. “And there are soldier on the walls still.” 

“Are you serious, Seeker?” Dorian asked. “Do you think anything that came between that vicious elf and his baby wouldn’t be incinerated immediately?” 

“Probably true.” Varric grinned. 

“Let’s go see how bad the damage is.” Maria muttered. 

They were not ready for the sight that greeted them. Inside the gates it seemed as if everyone was waiting, full of smiles and cheering as they entered. Several people reached out reverently to touch Maria’s shoulder, her arm as she dismounted. She smiled, bewildered, at them as hushed prayers followed her. 

What really stopped them all short was the sight of Fenris standing near the stairs, Hawke on his left and Cullen on his right. Hawke was resting her hand on her large, prominent baby bump with an air of complete satisfaction and nonchalance. They all stared at her in disbelief.

“Damnit.” Iron Bull said, stroking his chin. “Did anyone actually bet she  _ wouldn’t _ have that baby today?” 

“Get off it.” Sera scowled. “Are we sure she isn’t just fat?” 

“Hey!” Hawke protested. 

“I thought for sure she’d have it if Skyhold was attacked. Right on the cobblestones.” Dorian said thoughtfully. 

“You were all betting on which calamity would force my wife into labor?” Fenris growled, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Well, obviously nothing will.” Maria waved grandly in their direction. “If a gigantic hole in the sky can’t make that baby come, I give up.” 

“This is why I don’t gamble.” Cassandra muttered darkly. 

“Maybe we’re going about this all wrong.” Blackwall stroked his beard. “It is only half Hawke, perhaps it is simply more cautious than she is.” 

“I’m scandalized by this.” Hawke said with mock indignity. “Scandalized. I need a fainting couch.” 

“I didn’t bet at all. Does that mean I win?” Cole asked innocently. 

“We’re going to have to all sink more money into the pot, that’s what this means.” Varric admitted with a relish. “New odds and everything.” 

“If you’re all quite finished.” Cullen couldn’t hide his small smile. “Inquisitor, welcome home.” 

“How bad is it, Cullen?” Maria asked. 

“The damage is mostly structural. We had a handful of casualties. An apprentice who got too close to the fighting. Two Starkhaven archers and two of Fenris’s soldiers. There are injuries, but I’ve been told everyone will pull through.” Cullen reported with a serious nod. “You are all here except Solas, is he…?” 

“Ran off because he’s upset. I’ll send somebody after him in a bit.” Maria reassured, placing a hand on Cullen’s arm. “You did great. You all did.” 

“You closed the rift.” Fenris stated. “It is done?” 

“Yes.” Maria’s smile broadened. “It’s done.” 

“Let me take a look at all of you.” Hawke stepped forward, but Maria shrunk back away from her with a shift of her eyes to the ground. 

“Later.” Maria said firmly. “I don’t… it was a lot to close the sky up. No more magic right now. I’ll live. Fenris, if you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to pay my respects to the fallen.” 

Hawke dropped her hands back to her side, nodding in sympathy. Fenris stepped forward and Varric looped his arm through Maria’s. 

“Your hand is bothering you?” He whispered as they turned.

“No… but…” Maria bit her bottom lip hard and looked up into Varric’s eyes. “Something happened up there Varric. With the orb, with my mark. I don’t know what, but something happened.” 

“Yeah, no shit.” He scoffed. “What were you thinking?” 

“Well, I was thinking…” Maria began smoothly. “I had promised to kick ass and close the breach, and I’d run out of asses.” 

Varric laughed at the wicked gleam in her eye, laughed until tears came and he had to double over and grip his side. Maria looked down at him, struggling not to laugh as well as Fenris glared. 

“Dwarf, is this appropriate?” Fenris asked. 

“Shit, you should be dead.” Varric wiped tears from the corner of his eyes. “You should be dead.” 

“I hope that’s relief mixed in with this fit of hysteria.” Maria’s eyes sparkled and thank the Maker, because there had been so many moments where he thought he’d see them lifeless and glassy, forever unseeing up at the sky. 

“Perhaps you should slap him.” Fenris advised. “Or I could.” 

 

Outside, the alcohol poured freely. Inside, the alcohol was flowing just as freely, but the atmosphere was rather more mellow. Leliana had emptied the great hall of just about everyone except the people Maria enjoyed most and those ostensibly too important to exclude. Unfortunately, most of them were fucking exhausted. Sera was nodding off on Iron Bull’s bicep, a mug slipping precariously in her clenched fist. Maria leaned backwards against a table, Cole on the ground between her knees and his blonde head resting on her kneecap. Everyone else was in various states of inebriation and contentment, including choir boy of all people. He hadn’t touched a drop, but he had his hand propped in his chin, nodding absently as Hawke narrated how Sebastian’s troops had almost caught Fenris and her outside Highever. 

“So, we’re in a damned closet Sebastian and Fenris has got his hand over my mouth…”

“If you would have stopped laughing, it would not have been necessary.” Fenris drawled, taking a drink directly from the bottle. 

“Fenris, they’d been as shocked to see us as we were to see them! One of them didn’t have his breeches on!” Hawke waggled her eyebrows. Sera snorted.

“Classic. No breeches.” She murmured. “Cheers to that.”  

“They left that out of their official report.” Sebastian smiled, almost shy.

“Well, of course they did.” Hawke reasoned. “They didn’t see us go in the closet, but I could hear them coming up the hall. Fenris’s sword was still in our room at the inn, so I decided to act like we were polishing another type of sword.” 

Fenris nearly spat out his wine and Varania groaned, hiding her head in one palm. “I do not need to hear this.” She complained.

“Is this how you get the inspiration for your stories?” Rainier asked, peering at Varric with a look torn between amusement and disapproval. He had one arm slung gently over Varania’s shoulders. Sabina was resting in her mother’s arms, completely asleep, breath coming easy in and out. Still, Varric saw how sometimes Varania moved just so to check her, peering down into her face or resting her hand lightly on her back. It had to be somewhat uncomfortable for her. When the group had finally found Varania, she’d been in the great hall getting an absolute earful from Hawke for participating in dashing heroics and nearly getting herself killed. The irony had been lost on nobody, least of all Varania. Apparently, she’d insisted a shallow healing for the deep gashes decorating her side so Hawke could save her mana for the others. 

Thom had nearly tripped over himself in concern, offering to do any and everything for the woman. Completely worth it, just for the rather unimpressed look on Fenris’s face. 

“Sometimes, Hero.” Varric admitted. “Sometimes I just make them up. Like to keep the Seeker guessing.” 

“I can hear you, Varric.” Cassandra glowered from across the hall.

“You should have heard the shit he used to tell about me in Kirkwall.” Hawke grinned, even as she rolled her eyes. 

“What about the one where my belt buckle foretold the future of my pants?” Sebastian asked. 

“Oh, I like that one.” Maria said, tapping her knuckles gently against Cole’s head in agreement. “It’s got pathos.” 

The table quieted as both Hawke and Sebastian turned disbelieving stares on Maria. She recoiled slightly. “What?” 

“Maker, where did he find her?” Sebastian asked. 

“Apparently, she was a fan of his books prior to falling out of the sky.” Hawke explained with a small, almost sweet smile. “I think she’s lovely.” 

“I’m short, not invisible.” Maria pointed out. “I’m right here.” 

“It helps that she’s rather beautiful.” Varric teased. 

“Bright. Bold. Pale skin against soft sheets and muscles tight. A challenge and a dare in her eyes. Perfect, perfect.” Cole said softly. Varania hid her whole face in her hands and Thom chuckled. 

“And how do they feel about you saying that in front of everyone, lad?” He asked, not unkindly. 

“Varric and I are consenting adults. We’re allowed to do whatever we want in bed.” Maria grinned mischievously over her shoulder and winked salaciously at Hawke.

“Not just in bed.” Cole remarked nonchalantly. “A lot of tents. Sometimes over the desk. Once on the war table.” 

Fenris just about choked on his wine and Sera was suddenly wide awake, staring at Cole. 

“Nice.” Bull muttered with a nod of approval. 

“Took him right up the dales, yeah?” Sera asked with a giggle. 

“I look forward to informing Cullen.” Thom remarked dryly.

“Well, I need to go open a rift. And jump into it.” Maria closed her eyes. 

“Why jump into a rift when you could be jumping Varric?” Hawke asked. 

“Oh for the… don’t you have a baby to deliver?” Maria exclaimed. Hawke smoothed the front of her tunic down smugly. 

“Oh no, I joined the pool now. I’m betting that this baby isn’t coming until after Summerday and I plan on winning.” 

“Oh!” Varric wasn’t certain exactly where Josephine had come from, but she was standing in front of Maria with her hands clasped and eyes glowing. “We should have a ball! A real one, for Summerday!” 

“No.” Maria said immediately. Josephine frowned, mouth opening to argue.

“Perhaps a festival instead, Josie.” Leliana whispered, melting from the shadows next to other woman with a wry smile. “With dancing, poles, and ribbons. The dignitaries from Orlais will be charmed and the merchants will love the chance to show off.” 

“But there must be an official ball!” Josephine protested. Maria, who had tilted her head intrigued at the idea of a festival furrowed her brow again. 

“A masquerade!” Leliana whispered. “A costume ball instead, so we can all mingle anonymously! Think of the novelty.” 

Both Josephine and Maria looked thoughtful until finally the Inquisitor shook her head and looked up in wonder at Leliana. “It’s frightening how well you know me.”

“You can both get what you prefer and be happy. I fail to see how it doesn’t aid you.” Leliana giggled. Josephine turned her imploring eyes back to Maria.

“Fine.” She said, stretching her arms up into the air. “Don’t go overboard, Josie.” 

“Never.” Josephine promised. 

Maryden had begun to play something, soft and slow. “You should dance, Inquisitor.” Josephine pressed. Maria laughed. 

“Absolutely not. Do you remember what happened the last time I decided to dance after I thought I saved the world?” Maria made a great swooping motion with her hand, then a gesture indicating an explosion. 

“All I remember is Varric being utterly distraught Cassandra stole you away from him right before he could make his move.” Leliana looked down coyly from under her lashes. 

“Ugh!” Cassandra exclaimed.

“Really?” Hawke asked, picking up a grape and lobbing it in Cassandra’s direction. “Varric could have been hooking up with her  _ before  _ Adamant and you ruined it?” 

“To be fair, there was also an Archdemon.” Dorian sat down heavily next to Hawke with two more bottles of wine, passing one to Fenris. “But, it was still mostly the Seeker’s fault.” 

“I know this song.” Fenris grumbled, accepting the bottle. “I cannot remember how…” 

“Oh!” Maria turned, pleased. “It goes… something, something, can’t help falling…” 

Even Varric winced at how off key she was. 

“Like a river flows surely to the sea. Darling, so it goes, some things are meant to be…” The voice was quiet, clear, and bright. They all turned to fix their eyes on Varania, gently stroking her fingers thoughtfully up and down Sabina’s spine as she sang. She looked up, flushing pink. “It was popular in Minrathous fifteen years ago?” 

“Provincial now, of course.” Dorian sniffed. 

“Spitfire, I had no idea you sang.” Varric couldn’t hide his delight. “And you’re good at it!” 

“Much better than Quizzie, that’s for sure.” Sera laughed.

“I can’t be perfect.” Maria reasoned with a shrug of her shoulders. “I have to have some flaws or it simply wouldn’t be fair to everyone else.” 

“Make sure you put that in your story, Varric. The Inquisitor can’t sing for shit.” Iron Bull teased. 

“He used to tell people I was fat.” Hawke sighed, staring down at her stomach. 

“I’ve already admitted that sometimes I make things up!” Varric threw his hands up in faux outrage.

“I should get her to bed.” Varania interrupted, shifting Sabina slightly and reaching back to leverage herself up from the bench. 

“I’ll carry her, my lady.” Thom offered gallantly. Varric didn’t miss the small smile or shake of Maria’s head. 

“I’m certainly capable…” Varania began to argue. 

“Nobody is arguing that.” Thom soothed, reaching his arms out. “Please, I would like to.” 

Varric turned to look at Fenris’s reaction. The elf’s grip had tightened on the neck of the bottle and he was scowling at Thom’s arms even as Varania sighed and gave up her fight, shifting Sabina gently into Thom’s grasp. 

“The dwarf lies frequently.” Fenris’s voice was smooth and dangerous as he looked up at Rainier. “But he has not lied about my proclivity towards violence when I am angered.” 

Hawke laughed, quickly turning it into a cough and tucking her face into her shoulder. 

“Noted.” Thom replied dryly. Varania rolled her eyes up to the ceiling then glared daggers down at Fenris. 

“Stop it.” She hissed, gathering her skirt in her hand and stalking off with Thom on her heels. 

“Smooth, Broody.” Varric chuckled. “Very smooth.” 

 

Amazingly, despite their exhaustion, nobody else left beyond Fenris and Hawke. It was nearly dawn and everyone was still awake, the music was still playing, and people were still drinking. Varric had been observing a game of cards that was going disastrously for Cullen (again) when he spied a flash of red hair disappearing into the steps leading to the Inquisitor’s room. 

Varric disentangled himself quickly, picking up a bottle of ale as he followed Maria. He didn’t spot her until he’d climbed the stairs. She had thrown the balcony doors open and was leaning over the railing, her hair lit by the rising sun and turned to fire. She turned her head as he approached, smiling softly. 

“You just left your own party early, Princess.” He said, sitting the bottle down on the desk and sliding up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and placing his chin on her shoulder. “Right. If somebody didn’t leave, it was never going to end.” She joked, leaning back against him and staring up at the sky. “So how long, exactly, did you think I was going to die doing this?” 

Varric wasn’t prepared for this line of questioning. He frowned, turning and pressing a kiss against Maria’s neck. 

“A part of me thought there was no way you’d live. People don’t make it out of things like this, Maria.” He admitted, breathing her in. Cloves, leather, parchment. “Another part of me thought you’d never fail. It’s been a very confusing time in my life.” 

“And you fell in love with me regardless?” She asked, turning in his arms to catch his eyes, raising her palm to his cheek. 

“Couldn’t help it.” Varric admitted. “I tried to talk myself out of it a couple times. I’ve never been very good at saying no.” 

“Solas said, before I heard you all yelling, he said it wasn’t supposed to be this way. I don’t…” Her brow furrowed. 

“You know Chuckles has a penchant for the dramatic.” Varric soothed. “It’s okay, it’s over.” 

“Is it?” Maria asked, one hand clenching into the fabric at his shoulder and pulling him closer. “Am I really safe now? Is it really over? Are we safe?” 

“Yes.” He answered fiercely, pulling her closer as the tears started to fall. “It’s all over, Princess. Just like a bad dream.” 

Maria wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, buried her face in his shoulder, and sobbed as the sun rose over the horizon, basking Skyhold in a golden glow. 

It was over, Varric thought, closing his own eyes against the tears threatening. It was all over. 

 

“I would love to be able to pull my people out of the Emprise to chase Anders down, trust me boys.” Maria said, leaning on her palms as she looked over the map. “Unfortunately, the Emprise is a mess. Red lyrium everywhere. People sick and starving. I can’t even be sure I dug all the red templars out, to be honest. The troops in the Emprise have to stay where they are until the Imperial Army is in any shape to take over there.” 

“My people believed he was lingering in the chaos surrounding Val Chevin.” Sebastian pointed to a spot on the map. 

“The Spymaster is quite sure that is a false flag.” Fenris growled. “I think it would be wisest to look in Nevarra. That is closer to Tevinter and that is the last place we know for certain the abomination was.” 

“You’re certain he is not dead, Hawke?” Sebastian asked over his shoulder. Hawke and Varric were reclining on the couch in the far corner. 

“I don’t think so. Fenris has still had dreams.” Hawke tapped her lips thoughtfully. “Although how in Andraste’s dimpled ass he survived a building falling on him, I’ll never know.” 

“If I were him, I wouldn’t stay in Nevarra. First place we’d look and he has to know someone would come after him.” Maria muttered. 

“Would he truly think you would go after him?” Sebastian asked. 

“I have to.” Maria shrugged, pushing herself away from the table. “He’s the only loose end in a war that killed thousands and I have a hundred mages here. If there’s any chance at peace, I can’t have him frolicking through the countryside.” 

“Aside from the fact that he has completely lost his mind.” Fenris added darkly. 

“Aside from that.” Maria chirped cheerfully. “The Hinterlands is pretty calm, and the Arl of Redcliffe has his ass back in his castle. I could probably withdraw from there and start combing Ferelden if the King is…” 

“Inquisitor!” Josephine shrieked, throwing open the door, eyes wide in a panic. “Come, we must get you dressed!” 

“Josie, I am dressed.” Maria, so used to interruptions, didn’t even look up from the map. Josephine bustled in regardless. 

“In something  _ presentable _ .” Josephine insisted. This did cause Maria to look up, her gaze sweeping down over her breeches and long tunic, then back up to Josephine. 

“What is the matter with how I dress?” Maria demanded, placing one hand on her hip. “I refuse to parade around Skyhold in a hoop skirt all day, Josie. I am busy.” 

“I think you look great.” Varric claimed. Maria gestured to him in her defense.

“The King of Ferelden is coming up the mountain pass!” Josephine tapped her quill impatiently on the clipboard. “There has been no warning! Leliana’s people just now deigned to notify me, he sent no announcement that he was coming…” 

“Well, what I’m wearing now is a vast improvement over how I looked the last time I saw the King of Ferelden.” Maria smirked. “I had demon guts in my hair last time.” 

“And you punched a Magister.” Varric reminded her. “A glorious show of etiquette.” 

Fenris smirked. Josephine sighed heavily. “Inquisitor, please. It is important to…” 

“I’ll put on something nicer, but he’s not here for me.” Maria guessed shrewdly. “There’s a reason Leliana didn’t give you any warning, Josie.” 

“Because she is impossible!” Josephine exclaimed, turning on her heel. “I will meet you upstairs posthaste.” 

“What do you know that we don’t, Princess?” Varric asked suspiciously. Maria smiled innocently. 

“Nothing.” She lied with a wink. “Come help me get dressed?” 

“As you command.” Hawke made a retching sound and Varric lightly punched her in the arm before trailing out of the war room in Maria’s wake.

“Seriously, what’s going on?” Varric asked quietly, placing one hand on her lower back.

“When Leliana first met Morrigan’s boy, she looked like she’d seen a ghost.” Maria whispered. “And it takes quite a lot to shake Leliana. Do you remember what she said, right after we came out of the Eluvian?” 

Varric narrowed his eyes. “They were fighting over you getting hurt. I don’t know if you remember, but we were a bit concerned you were dying.” 

“They weren’t fighting about me getting hurt. Not really. They fight the same way Bea…” At this, Maria’s voice faltered and she had to take a deep breath as she opened and closed her bedroom door. Varric knew she was thinking about how the unanswered letters she sent to Ostwick. “Bea and I used to fight. She said… does Ali even know. Morrigan said he knew.” 

Varric saw where she was going and felt the rising surge of awe. “Are you seriously suggesting…” 

“That there’s another bastard prince of Ferelden running around? With an apostate mother?” Maria’s eyebrows rose in amusement. “Imagine the scandal! The King must have been very desperate to see Morrigan if he risked setting tongues wagging by coming here.” 

“Do you think anyone else knows?” Varric asked quietly. 

“Leliana figured it out pretty quickly. I don’t know, maybe their old friends from the Blight? The Warden and her lover?” Maria shrugged. “Regardless, I don’t care. I think it’s kind of romantic, to be honest.” 

“You would. You’re as bad as Cassandra.” He teased. 

“At least I don’t read those horrible books.” Maria laughed as he shoved her up the steps and into Josephine’s stylish claws. 

Maria was right about the King. He gave her the most perfunctory of greetings, then asked with a boyishly disarming grin to be sent in Morrigan’s general direction. Despite their curiosity, Maria and Varric had given them their space. It was not until a quiet knock on Maria’s door that night interrupted them that they found out what had happened. Varric set aside his journal and Maria stretched in her chair, a sheaf of reports falling from  her lap.

“Damnit, come in!” She called as she bent over, swiping them from the floor. In seconds, Nightingale stood in front of them.

“You know.” Leliana stated shrewdly, staring at Maria. “Josephine told me you informed her I had kept Ali’s progress a secret for a reason. I assume you know the reason.” 

“Did it work out?” Maria asked, tilting her head to the side. 

“Perhaps. It will be… difficult regardless. Morrigan is very concerned about her mother having such control over her. She is worried that Flemuth will use it to strike at Kieran. I think she is secretly glad Alistair is here to assist her.” Leliana sat on the edge of the bed. “She told me she plans to join Chantal and send Kieran with Alistair. She asked if you could be trusted to be...discreet regarding Kieran.” 

“He’s an innocent child, Leliana.” Maria frowned. “I wouldn’t let you use innocent children in your games, why would I do the same?” 

“That is what I said.” Leliana breathed a sigh of relief. “But I had to be certain. You are a good woman.” 

“Unmitigated praise!” Maria exclaimed in delight, shooting a mischievous grin at Varric. “Now she has to tell me I’m stubborn or irresponsible.” 

“You’re in danger.” Leliana said bluntly. Maria sighed, shoulders drooping as she slipped back in the chair. Varric felt a sudden chill in the room. 

“Of course I am.” Maria muttered. “What is it this time?” 

“The ale you like was unloaded at the dock in Jader. But there was something… off about the shipment records. It had vanished for a time. I decided it was better to be safe than sorry and I had some tested. It was laced with a substance that burned a nug to a crisp when we gave it some.” Leliana frowned. “A mage was apprehended.”

“Let me guess, with a copy of Ander’s damn manifesto.” Varric hazarded a guess. He was rewarded with a stiff nod from the Nightingale. 

“How does he know which ale I drink?” Maria asked, leaning forward in her perplexion. Varric stood up and stode to the balcony doors, throwing them open. 

“I do not know.” Leliana said from behind him as Varric looked down on the sea of people below them. “It is possible there is someone working here for them. It is also possible someone passed on information not knowing what it would be used for, thinking perhaps someone was trying to win your favor with a gift.” 

“So there’s a traitor. Or not.” Varric surmised.

“I won’t hide from my own people, Leliana.” Maria said quickly. 

Of course she wouldn’t, Varric thought darkly. 

 

“Inquisitor, report for you.” A soldier saluted, stopping next to Maria as she examined the decorations hanging from the scaffolding and towers. Fresh flowers, brightly colored ribbon, a pole being erected not too far away. Sebastian Vael was shooting an arrow at a target while Varric rubbed at a scuff mark on Bianca with his elbow.

“Go ahead.” Maria said simply, picking up her own bow. 

“Ser Fenris is requesting you meet him in the surgeon’s building.” The soldier said smartly with a salute. Maria groaned. 

“No.” She said simply. “I said we weren’t working today.” 

“He did say you were an idiot for not working when the abomination is, in all likelihood, attempting to murder you.” Sebastian shot another perfect target. 

“Sour face?” Sera asked, looking up from the apple she was eating. “He’s in the forge. Saw him heading there myself when I was getting widdle.” 

“Message got garbled?” Varric suggested before focusing back on Sebastian. “Nice try, choir boy. Maybe let the professionals have a go.” 

“You just can’t tell perfection since all your shots are still veering left.” Sebastian said calmly.

“My shots do not veer left. Maria?” He asked, looking over his shoulder. 

“I didn’t say your shots veered left.” She answered too quickly. Sebastian laughed. 

“But she thinks it.” He said, pleased with himself. 

“Do my shots go left?” Varric pressed. Maria hesitated. “Oh for Andraste’s sake!” 

“Just sometimes.” Maria shrugged in embarrassment. “It’s okay, I compensate.” 

Varric ignored the laughter and focused on Maria as she looked up at the nervous soldier. “Should, I ah… tell Ser Fenris you’re not coming?” He asked with a bit of a squeak.

“For fuck’s sake.” Maria said, shaking her head. “Where is Hawke?” She demanded. 

“I’m not sure.” The soldier stuttered. “With Lady Varania, I think…” 

“I’ll go grab him by his pointy ear and drag him down here. I am not working today.” Maria threw her bow back down and turned on her heel.

“Wait.” Varric called with a sigh. “I’ll follow you up. You know Leliana doesn’t like you alone right now.” 

“Afraid of being shown up, Varric?” Sebastian asked sincerely. Maria laughed. 

“When are you going back to Starkhaven?” Varric asked tersely, looking longingly at the targets. 

“As soon as I know my family is safe.” Sebastian said simply, frowning. “As soon as I know Audrey is safe.” 

“Stay and kick his ass, love.” Maria smiled, “I won’t be alone, I’ll be dragging tall, dark, and brooding with me.” 

Varric hesitated, but it was a sunny day. The banners were bright and Maria was so sure. So very sure of herself. 

“Fine, and then you’ll come back down and I will prove to you that my shots don’t veer left.” He promised. Maria shook her head in exasperation, clasping her hands behind her and slinking back up the staircase. Varric caught himself humming under his breath as he watched her walk away. 

  
_ So take my hand, and take my whole life too  
_ _ Cause I can't help falling in love with you _


	83. Walking Through Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris falls into a trap and drags Maria with him.

_ “Take this, my champion, _ __  
_ And free our people forever.”  _ __  
_ And the Prophet and the People _ __  
_ Struck down the mages of the legion _ __  
_ And claimed the field together.  _ __  
_ And before them, empty,  _ __  
_ Outstretched lay the land _ _  
_ __ Which led to the gates of Minrathous. 

**Canticle of Shartan 10:6-10:7**

 

“The Inquisitor is requesting your presence in the forge, messere.” The mage raised one elegant eyebrow as Fenris turned a glare on her. Hawke sighed from where she sat in the tavern, fanning herself inelegantly.

“I thought she was sick of being locked in a room with you and Sebastian.” Hawke mused. 

“That is what she said, yes.” Fenris growled. “What does she want?” 

“How would I know? I’m apparently so unimportant I’m running messages now. Somebody at the mage’s tower told me to tell you if I was on my way down here.” The mage sniffed, Hawke barely stiffled her own laugh. 

“Maybe it’s because you’ve terrified every scout in the fortress Fenris. Now they’re forcing mages to run their errands.” Hawke grinned cheekily. 

Fenris fought the urge to roll his eyes. In all honesty, he had no wish to move himself from their cozy spot in the tavern. Hawke was glowing in the dim light, cheerfully laughing as she read aloud from Varric’s newest work. He had his hand resting on her stomach and could feel his child moving, twisting and dancing impatiently almost as if the baby was reacting to Hawke’s voice, excited to hear the next part of the story. 

He hadn’t agreed that they needed a day off, but dammit, if he was promised a day out of the stifling war room in between laughing gray eyes and burning blue ones, he wanted to spend it with Hawke, not down in the forge. 

“Go.” Hawke huffed, pushing his shoulder. “I’ll be here when you get back. Don’t think I’m capable of moving much on my own.” 

“A few more days and you win the bet.” Fenris reminded her. Hawke beamed in delight. 

“Yes!” She said with a relish. “And I can’t wait to take all their money.” 

Fenris chuckled, low and dark in his throat as he stood. “That is my wife. Ruthless.” 

“You love it.” Hawke winked, leaning on her elbows. 

“I do.” Fenris admitted softly, leaning down to gently kiss her brow. “Try not to get into trouble while I’m gone.”

“Do I ever get into trouble, Fenris?” She drawled, flipping to the next page of the manuscript.

 

On the stairs, he sidestepped Sera and Dagna. “Is the Inquisitor in the forge?” He asked the blushing dwarven woman in Sera’s lap. They broke off from their petting to look up at him with an air of nonchalant annoyance.

“Um. Maybe?” Dagna squeaked. 

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” Fenris asked archly. “Some sort of blasted archery contest?” 

“Oh tits!” Sera exclaimed, sitting up and dumping the dwarf from her lap. Fenris smirked and carried on. 

The great hall was nearly abandoned, everyone lingering in the warm summer air and preparing for the festival. Fenris smothered a hint of annoyance. Anyone could waltz right into the heart of Skyhold and into the Inquisitor’s bedchamber if they chose. 

Of course, the person most likely to do that was Sera. And the end result would be nugs and a mess, which would be fine vengeance. Fenris scowled at the door to the forge, shoving it open with an unnecessary amount of force and storming into the forge. 

Empty. The blacksmith gone, Dagna gone. All he could hear were the sounds of birds from the great open chasm in the back of the forge. Fenris took several steps down to the main floor, looking around. 

Something prickled in his markings. Sent them burning and crawling, made him snap his jaw shut and wish he had his blade. He swung his gaze around, landing on Dagna’s work space and the chest that was broken open underneath it, the lock smouldering uselessly beside it. 

Venhedis, he had fucking  _ warned _ her. 

“Are you prepared to face Justice?” A familiar voice asked, stepping from behind the largest forge. It was layered, as if two men were speaking at once, and the blue glow rippled across the stone. 

“Abomination.” Fenris snarled. 

“Wild dog.” The voice was cold, cruel, and floating above his hand was the shard of red lyrium, so carefully not touching his skin. “Did you think you could outrun me?” 

“I have been eager to end this.” Fenris spat. “I should have known you would find a way to fight on unequal terms.” 

No blade, but Fenris was certainly not helpless. Of course, he could only hope that Anders hadn’t learned how easily and quickly the red lyrium would affect him. He did not think Hawke had it in her to perform another miracle this close to the birth of their child.  _ His _ child. 

“Do you have nothing to say in your defense?” Anders asked, glowing blue eyes sparking with energy. “No plea for mercy?” 

“You are a madman and a stain upon this world. I am glad I am the one who will wipe you from it.” At Fenris’s words, Anders threw his head back and laughed, the sound ringing hollowly in the space. Fenris took the opportunity, phasing to his left. 

Not quick enough. Not nearly quick enough. 

A blast of power knocked him onto one of the armory tables, and unfortunately the one without the blades in progress. Instead, he landed hard on the sharp edges of breastplates and greaves. Then Fenris was pushed down, so hard into the stone he felt as if his bones would crack. He could only see the hem of the abomination’s robe as he walked closer, then knelt and placed a golden box beside Fenris’s head. He could see old words, Tevene if he had to guess, but no form of Tevene he had ever heard. They were inscribed in circling patterns on the lid. 

“Justice demands you pay in both body and soul.” The abomination intoned. “Both of these things can be ensured.” 

“She will still love me.” Fenris sneered. “You won’t have her.” 

“I will.” 

Fenris felt something icy and sharp in his stomach. Paralyzing fear settling like a stone. Hawke, he thought desperately. But Varania, surely…

As if he could see where Fenris’s thoughts had gone, the abomination smiled almost beatifically. “Varania is dead. Or will be soon enough. She had the chance to choose the right course, but she refused. We will use the girl to lure Hawke, then kill the mother. The Champion will see, she  _ must _ see.” 

Fenris fought the force pinning him to the ground, struggling, thrashing. The weight increased until he felt his bones pop. Still, he fought. Hawke, his child, Varania, and Sabina… 

The abomination brought the red lyrium closer, so close Fenris could feel the heat burning from it, could feel it pulling towards him as if it would devour him whole. 

He was saved by an apple.

The apple was shiny and red, with one perfect bite mark showing white flesh. Details he would remember, he was certain, until he was dead. It hit the abominations head with a surprising amount of force, enough to stun, enough for the red lyrium to go flying. Enough for the force pressing Fenris to the ground to lessen. He snatched out his flailing fist, sank his fingers into the Mage’s flesh, phased his fingers through and pulled them back, trailing blood and muscle. 

An apple. Fenris rolled to the side and dared a look up at the door, at Maria Cadash framed within it. Unarmed. 

Then the force threw Fenris back, tossed her down the steps like a child’s doll until she crumpled at the bottom. 

“Where is your bow?” Fenris hissed in annoyance. 

“Gratitude could use some work.” She groaned, propping herself up on one hand. “Where is your bleedin’ sword?” 

At least there were swords. Fenris rolled, reaching for the table where they lay in a perfect row.

“ENOUGH!” The man that was once Anders roared, slamming a staff down onto the stone, throwing sparks of fade energy in every direction. Fenris had to leap backwards to avoid one spiraling arch of energy. He saw Cadash mirror the action, but not quite quick enough. One of the bolts laced through her right arm and she let out a sharp cry, pulling back quickly. 

Her hand burst to life, as if energized by the hit. Fenris could feel it, the gust of power over his markings, the feel of burning water thrown over raw skin. 

Fenris was not the only one that felt it, even as the force the abomination controlled shoved him back against the rough stone, the creature turned to Cadash, boring into her with his glowing blue eyes. 

“What is that?” He demanded. “Why does the fade bleed through you?” 

“Haven’t you been trying to murder me?” Maria asked from her position on the ground, her back against the wall. “You’d think you’d know how I got here in the fucking first place.” 

“It feels… it feels…” The abomination whispered, almost in awe, taking a step forward towards Cadash. “The fade. I had forgotten.” 

“More than happy to send you back there.” Cadash’s hand was slowly going for the blade strapped to her waist, hidden under her tunic. “Put the elf down and we’ll talk.” 

“It is not yours!” The abomination snarled, bending to pick up the box that was on the ground. At least there was no sign of the red lyrium, he certainly couldn’t feel it. It was possible it had went into the chasm. “That power does not belong to you! It belongs to no mortal! Return it at once!” 

Fenris saw gray eyes flick over the abominations shoulder, meeting his for a moment as if seeking guidance. But there was no guidance Fenris could offer, only mute and silent horror as the light continued to burst from Ander’s skin, brighter, more intense, but also… 

Tainted. Blackened. 

What in the Maker had happened? 

“You can try to take it.” Cadash fingers gripped her blade, waiting. “Didn’t end well for the last guy.”

The abomination stalked forward suddenly, but Cadash was ready. When he grabbed her right arm, she came up with the blade in her left, burying it in the abomination’s chest as he lifted her clear off her feet. 

The abomination didn’t react at all to the blade, but something was happening. Magic was lacing through the air, uncontrolled, volatile. He could feel something pulling at his lyrium, not purposefully, but as if creating a perfect storm. Maria’s mark burned, the abomination glowed, his own markings flickered. 

The box in the abomination’s other hand fell open. A burst of power echoed from within it as it dropped to the floor, enough to separate the Inquisitor and Anders, enough to free Fenris from the power trapping him against the wall. The room was spinning, fading, growing dark. 

Before he lost consciousness, he saw Anders fall, and Justice step forward. Glowing blue, streaks of black like diseased veins running across what could have been called flesh. 

Then there was nothing. 

 

“Fenris?” He heard Cadash whisper, her unmarked hand resting gently on his shoulder. “Fenris, please tell me you’re not dead.” 

His head felt as if he’d drank an entire wine cellar, his mouth felt stuffed full of cotton. Still, he reached up and brushed her hand away, pushing himself up. Something, there was something missing in his memory. Something vitally important, more crucial than anything he had ever forgotten before…

He knew what it was the moment his eyes swept the forge and landed on the mage on his knees, his matted blonde hair in his hands and his head bowed as he rocked back and forth. Hawke was in danger, Hawke and their baby and Varania and Bina and…

Fenris didn’t even realize he was moving, but the Inquisitor didn’t stop him. Her eyes had focused past him, a look of horror on her face that he couldn’t contemplate because he needed to end it, needed to…

His fist connected with Anders cheek and sent the mage sprawling, he phased his hand, waiting to plunge into his chest and rip his heart…

“Fenris, stop!” Maria tore her eyes from whatever she was looking at. “Stop! We may need him.” 

He hesitated, looking away from the mage to the Inquisitor. She was moving like smoke, her own sparking fist grabbing Anders robes and pulling him from the ground.

“What.” She began, snapping her free hand in front of his eyes. “The. Fuck. was in that box.” 

“I don’t… I don’t know where I am. I don’t know…” Anders babbled. Maria reeled back and slapped the cheek Fenris hadn’t punched, snapping the man’s head to the side.

“The damn box.” She repeated. 

“Justice is gone!” Anders exclaimed. “He’s gone and I feel… I feel…” 

“Gone?” Fenris repeated, remembering the flash, the thought of seeing two men where once there had been one. He turned to Cadash, noticed for the first time that she was shaking. “What has happened?” 

“Do you know where we are?” She asked quietly, gray eyes swinging from Anders to Fenris, then pointing to the chasm overlooking the mountains. “Look.”

Fenris followed her direction, stepping reluctantly from Anders to peer suspiciously over the railing. He nearly reeled back in panic. 

Nothing. There was nothing but swirling green mist and bits of rocks floating in space. 

“We’re in the fade.” Anders whispered. “I know where we are.” 

“This is your fault!” Fenris snapped, turning on his heel back to Anders. “You and your pet demon. Fix it!” 

“Or what, you’ll hit me again?” Anders asked sarcastically. “What good will it do?” 

“It’ll make all of us feel a whole hell of a lot better.” Maria mused running her hand through her hair. 

“Who in the void are you?” Anders asked, glaring up at her. “What is that green mark of death on your hand?” 

“Do you know, I usually pray for days I’m not recognized.” Maria muttered darkly. 

“The Inquisitor.” Fenris snarled. “What have you done with Hawke? And Varania?” 

“What?” Anders asked, his puzzled frown only serving to inflame Fenris’s bloodlust. 

“My wife and my sister!” He yelled. “What did you do with them?” 

“Nothing!” Anders protested. “I wouldn’t… Hawke is my friend!” 

Fenris reached forward, to clench the man’s heart in his hand, to make him talk. Maria blocked his fist with her arm. 

“What did Justice do?” She asked simply. Ander’s eyes widen a fraction of an inch, he looked down hurriedly. 

“I don’t know. I don’t know, I couldn’t… I couldn’t always see. I don’t know what happened before I got here. The last thing...the last thing I remember I was in Ostwick.”

Maria’s face went pale. “Why Ostwick?” She demanded harshly. 

“Looking for...someone. I can’t remember who. Couldn’t find them.” Maria’s shoulders sagged in visible relief.

“What was in the box, Mage?” Fenris asked, glaring down at the pathetic figure before them. So skinny, without the fade spirit illuminating him, that he looked as emaciated as a slave. Dark shadows were under his eyes.  

“Oh Maker…” Anders groaned, cradling his head. “A demon. Captured by the ancient Tevinters. It feeds off the victim that gets trapped in it.” 

“Lovely.” Maria whispered, reaching up to rub her temple and casting a despairing look at the chasm outside. 

“Perhaps it will eat him.” Fenris snarled. 

“Why do you think Varania and Hawke are in danger?” Maria asked, frowning deeply. 

“Because it is not enough to destroy me. Vengeance will not stop until I wish I was never born. He told me that Varania was dead or dying and Hawke was lost. We must get back. Maria, you must…” Fenris reached out, closing a hand tight over her shoulder. “Do something. Get us out of here.” 

“We’re not physically here, I think.” She bit her lip, looking around. “I mean, it looked different when I was really there. This looks like a dream. Which, unfortunately, means I can’t just try and open a rift to get us back out.” 

“So what?” Fenris demanded. “I cannot stay here!” 

“Well, I don’t think anyone is suggesting that!” Maria responded hotly, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear and moving to one of the tables, picking up a bow and a quiver half full of arrows. “Grab a sword. There’s got to be a way out. We’ll find it.” 

“You can’t fight a demon in the fade with a pretend bow and arrows! Nothing you make here is  _ real _ .” Anders declared impatiently. “You need a mage.”

“Yeah, well, given current options…” Maria muttered. “I’ll take my chances, this isn’t my first fade adventure.”

It was not Fenris’s either. Last time, last time…

 

_ The demon was snaking it’s tendrils across his mind, showing him power, victory. The imperium crushed beneath his heel, Danarius’s head rolling across cobblestones. The breaking of chains, freedom for all.  _

_ “You could have this,” the demon whispered, “And everything you ever wanted. With my aid, you could be free forever. You could have power enough to challenge any who would chain you.”  _

_ “How transparent can you get?” Hawke joked softly, smiling up at him from beneath her dark lashes. _

_ She’s one of them, isn’t she? The demon’s voice crooned.  _

_ “To face them as an equal…” A part of Fenris was fighting, kicking back. This was a demon, a demon. One did not make deals with demons.  _

_ “The dog is going to betray you, Hawke.” The glowing, crackling fade spirit inhabiting Anders body pointed out.  _

_ “Only a moment of your time…” The demon’s voice was as soft as a lover’s caress. Hawke, he thought listlessly, her hands. Slender fingers, gentle. Holding a staff, the demon reminded him. A staff with which to enslave, to hurt.  _

_ Hawke took a rapid step away from him, bringing her staff to her side loosely, but Fenris wasn’t fooled. She was a viper ready to strike at any moment. Fenris struck first.  _

 

“Are you going to tell her what you did last time, or should I?” Anders asked skeptically, pushing his dirty blonde hair from his face. 

“Cadash, I am not…” He could not form the words that Anders could be right. “This is not my strength. I… I betrayed Hawke many years ago when I visited the fade with her.” 

Anders snorted lightly under his breath. Maria paused, appraising him with those shrewd gray eyes. “Well.” She said simply, throwing the bow over her shoulder. “He’s been possessed for ten years and doesn’t seem to mentally be quite all there. I still trust your judgement more, but if you want to take him with us, I won’t object. Maybe we can throw him at the demon on our way out.” 

Fenris hesitated, staring with distaste down at Anders. “How much of the last years do you remember?”

“Pieces.” The mage admitted. “The last thing I remember clearly...Tevinter. I saved Hawke and your sister in the tunnel. You  _ owe _ me.” 

“I owe you nothing!” Fenris spat. “We would not have been there if not for your meddling! I know not what kind of danger they are in now because of you!” 

Anders’s eyes shifted downward guiltily. “I know.” He whispered. “Let me help. Make it as right as I can. Justice is gone and… it hurts, but I can finally think clearly.” 

Fenris picked the largest blade off the table and looked down at the mage. “If you betray us again, I will not hesitate. And you will face justice yourself when we leave this place, I swear to you.” 

“I hope you’re sure, Fenris.” Cadash looked at the mage skeptically, picking up a staff and tossing it before him on the floor. “Get up and tell us what you know about this demon.” 

Anders gripped the staff, his eyes flashing with determination as he lifted his weakened form off the floor. “It was an oracle, but it was turned into an augury, a demon, by someone a very long time ago and trapped in that box. Those kind of spirits are so precious, so rare, I had thought it a myth before Justice. They are creatures outside of time, they can see every single possible future in a moment. Anything that can happen. They used to be kept as servants, prized, in the Imperium’s glory days.”

“There are...stories.” Fenris admitted, flicking his gaze to Maria. “Of oracles that foretold prophecies in Tevinter. I thought them nothing more than legend.” 

“So what happens when one of these good oracles spirits becomes a demon?” Maria asked. Anders shuddered. 

“It feeds on the victim. The energy of all the futures that person could have had, all the futures that person could have impacted. It grows powerful and strong off of it.” He paused, looking around them. “It has probably already started. It’s pulled this place from one of us, one of our futures.” 

“Skyhold.” Maria said sternly. “It’s name is Skyhold.” 

“Your future then.” Anders rebuked with a pointed glare. “Especially if it means so much to you that you gave your damn castle a name.” 

“This trap wasn’t meant for me.” Maria said tersely, swinging her eyes to Fenris. “I got a message to meet you at the surgeon’s, but Sera told me you were going to the forge. I’m sure my absence is sorely disappointing some assassin. If it was meant for you, Fenris, would the demon know it?” 

“Who knows.” Anders moaned. “The important thing is to find a way out. Quickly.” 

“It’ll be alright.” Maria beamed, beginning to climb the stairs. “How long do you think it’ll take people to realize I’m missing, Fenris? And Dorian is an expert in Tevinter time magic. We’ll be out before we know it.” 

“If we survive.” Fenris muttered. “If the demon that possessed the mage isn’t wreaking havoc in Skyhold. If Hawke and Varania…” 

“Hey.” Cadash called over her shoulder, frowning as she took him in. “I’ll get you out, I promise. Time passes differently in the fade, whatever is going to happen may not have happened yet.” 

Fenris dearly hoped she was correct. 

 

The door to the forge opened into the great hall of Skyhold, but different than it had been the last time he saw it. There were new torches in the braziers, something much fancier than what had been there. 

“Boss!” 

The three of them jumped in unison, turning to stare at the large qunari striding down the hall with a massive grin on his face. “Did you get the report? Three dragons in the Emprise, boss! Three!” 

“Bull?” Maria whispered from beside him, stepping forward almost cautiously. But the Qunari wasn’t looking at them, his eyes were fixed on the door leading to the Inquisitor’s bedroom. There, leaning against the wood, was a second Cadash. Her hair was pulled up in a braided bun, her outfit was different, and she was smiling fondly at Bull. 

“Early Satinalia gift, I guess.” She winked. “I was thinking of just sending soldiers if you’ve gotten too soft…” 

As suddenly as the two had appeared, they were gone. The hall was as it had been that morning, empty and ghostly. Maria glared at where the Iron Bull had been. “Do you know what I’m really sick of? Demons in my head.” 

“I’m guessing that didn’t happen yet.” Anders remarked in an off-handed way. “Do you own a mercenary company in addition to a castle?” 

“I have contracts with several mercenary companies.” Maria answered automatically, before snapping her jaw shut and glaring at Anders. She had pulled an arrow from the quiver and was stringing it in the bow in preparation. 

“Who  _ are _ you?” Anders asked again, perplexed. “What is an Inquisitor? Is it a sex thing. It feels like a sex thing.” 

“Shut up!” Maria hissed.

“Mage, I swear if you are not quiet…” Fenris began at the same time. 

“Well, I would get stuck in the fade with someone who agrees with you all the time.” Anders muttered. 

Maria stormed forward, pulling open the door to the great hall. In a flash of light, everything melted away. They were on the docks of a city Fenris did not know, but it caused a sharp gasp from Maria. She paused, rocking back on her heels, looking up into the sky and letting fresh rain hit her eyelids, her cheeks. The sea roiled, white foam swirling in the water as the waves crashed before them. 

“Ostwick.” Anders said immediately, looking around. Ostwick, Cadash’s home. 

“I haven’t had a meal so tempting in such a long, long time.” A voice purred from behind them. Immediately, they all swirled to turn on the voice. Perched on a barrel, a dwarf with chocolate brown hair soaked in the rain stared at them. Beatrix Cadash crossed her legs, leaning back and smiling. 

Except that her eyes were glowing violet and there was smoke rising from the corners of her lips, her nostrils. A demon wearing the skin of the Inquisitor’s sister. 

“Oh, those silly weapons you all have pointing at me.” The demon laughed, pushing a lock of wet hair behind her ear. “Stop it. You know they won’t do anything.” 

Fenris went to raise the blade, but his hands were empty in a moment, clasping nothing but air. Maria’s bow had turned into a fish and she dropped it with a yelp. Fenris felt the pull of mana, but Anders was tossed into a stack of barrels before anything could come of it.

“Such a weak mage you brought me. He’s  _ starving _ , and he’s been ridden so hard by Vengeance he wouldn’t make an appetizing host for a wraith.” The demon grinned, showing pointed teeth in Beatrix’s mouth. “But you…. Oh you are delicious.” 

The mark on Maria’s hand sparked and she raised it, meeting the demon’s eyes in challenge. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way.” She threatened. 

“Maria, Maria, Maria…” The demon whispered, tendrils of blackness seeping from where it sat and spiraling out from the barrel. “When has anything  _ ever _ been easy for you?” 

Around them, smoke spiraled into the air. Flames were crackling over barrels, crates. In the distance, whole warehouses were engulfed despite the steady rain. The demon laughed. 

“This is what you offer the world, Maria Cadash. Orlais will burn. Ferelden will burn. Ostwick and Kirkwall and all of Thedas will burn with everyone you love. It is your fault. If you stop to think, I’m offering you a blessing. Save the world, deny the dread wolf, stay here with me.” 

“Do not listen to it.” Fenris snarled, gripping Cadash’s elbow and pulling her back. 

“Listen or not, it doesn’t matter.” The demon slipped from the barrel, the blackness surrounding it beginning to rise up. “You are in my domain, now. And I will feast on you for years.”  


	84. Betrayal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varania and Thom embark on their new relationship. The traitor in the midst of the Inquisition is revealed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the unexplained absence and slow updates! I had surgery (minor and all is well) but the recovery took a bit longer than anticipated and I've gotten a bit behind on my actual "pays the bills" job. So, less time for writing until I get caught up on some of my projects! Don't worry, I have no intention of abandoning this story right at the climax! Also, speaking of climax, some NSFW in this chapter of the Rainier/Varania variety (finally!) Also, as always, a bit of a trigger warning for Varania since sexual assault is discussed.

Sabina held a fistful of colored ribbons in her hand, staring at the pole on the ground with wide-eyed fascination. This was unlike anything Sabina had ever seen, in truth, Varania had been confused by it as well and had needed to request an explanation from Thom.

“We put the ribbons on the top here, little Bean.” He explained fondly, holding his own cobalt blue ribbon in his hand. “Then, when all the ribbons are attached, we stand it up. Like that one.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder at a much taller pole that was already erect, surrounded by giggling young women and nervous young men. From the top, the ribbons fluttered in the spring breeze.

“Then, everyone holds a ribbon and they dance in and out until it wraps the pole from top to bottom. You’ll get a chance to do this one yourself, we made it small enough so all the little ones could dance.” Thom continued. Sabina grinned in excitement, casting an excited look in Varania’s direction.

“Is this a courting tradition here?” Varania asked, twining her own handful of ribbons through her fingers, lacing them around each joint and feeling them slide against her skin.

Thom laughed, shaking his head in amusement. “Yes, my lady.” He drawled with a flickering light of amusement. “The girls attempt to ensnare the lad they fancy in their ribbon while dancing. The lads do their best to become caught by the girl they fancy. Eventually, everyone is tied to the pole and we’ve got to cut the whole gaggle of adolescents loose.”

“What a waste of perfectly good ribbons!” Varania couldn’t help her own smile, couldn’t help it often these days.

“Will you catch Thom with yours, mama?” Sabina asked brightly.

Varania felt the color rise quickly to the very tip of her ears. Thom laughed roguishly, daring a mischievous grin up at her. “Bina!” Varania exclaimed. “Where in the Maker did you get that idea?”

“Miss Rose.” Sabina answered simply. “She says you're courting. I asked what that was and she told me it meant you kiss a lot.”

Thom laughed even louder and Varania fought the urge to cover her eyes in mute horror. Fasta vass, she was going to smack Rose. “Bina…” Varania groaned instead.

“What?” Sabina demanded, perplexed. “If you want to catch him you need a longer ribbon, mama. He's too tall.”

“And who will you catch, little lady?” Thom asked, reaching out an arm to hook around her skinny waist and yank her back to him. Sabina giggled, squealing and twisting, ribbons scattering.

“I want to catch a pony!” She shouted as Thom picked her up and threw her over his shoulder. Her hair fell over his arms like night itself as Thom stood, dangling her upside down. Varania laughed softly herself as Sabina dangled like a worm from a hook.

“That's my girl.” Thom chuckled in satisfaction. “A horse, a sword, and a sense of adventure.”

“My wild child.” Varania played with the piece of dawnstone around her neck, feeling the polished edge. She couldn’t help the hint of pride or the rush of affection. Her wild and free child, as unruly as her hair. Nico would have taken such joy in her.

A bird whistled in the air as if to remind Varania that there was joy all around her if only she would reach out and grab it. So she smiled slyly and reached out with one of her ribbons, a bright blue one, and tied it quickly around Sabina’s arm as she flailed helplessly.

“Now I have caught you.” Varania pronounced, bending to press a kiss against Sabina’s forehead.

“Mama! You cheated!” Sabina accused. “Catch him! Catch him!” One fist fell weakly against Thom’s shoulder as Sabina laughed.

“She already has.” Thom reasoned, tossing her daughter into the air and catching her deftly as she shrieked in delight. Varania flushed in pleasure and couldn’t help the small smile that stayed with her, even as Sabina dashed into the nearest mud hole as soon as Thom released her.

“Every day, without fail.” Varania muttered, placing her hand on her hip and shaking her head. “It is a wonder the laundry can keep up with us. I’ll have to take her back and put her in clean clothes for her afternoon lessons.”

“Let her have her fun.” Thom murmured softly in her ear, twisting a broad arm around her waist and tugging her back to his chest. “Someday she may grow out of jumping in puddles.”

Someday, a young woman would look up into a magic mirror while a twisted crone looked on. Varania shivered without quite understanding why. Thom tilted his head to look into her face and she shrugged apologetically.

“Quod aliquis ambulans super me gravis.” Varania said quickly. “I think… it would translate as someone has walked over my grave. A bad omen.”

“If a bad omen is coming, it’s going to come my lady.” Thom’s voice was gruff and warm in her ear. “Best to enjoy the day. You’ll get through anything that comes well enough.”

His easy confidence was a balm and it made her shake her head in wonder as she looked down at the colorful ribbons twisted around her fingers. “Perhaps you are right.” She admitted, relaxing against the broadness of his chest.

She had been slow to explore the broadness of him, the shape of his corded muscles. Not because she didn’t long to. In fact, she was almost certain that the sight of him chopping wood in nothing but an undershirt should be banned for public indecency. But there had been so few moments alone, so often snatched while Sabina lost interest in them.

“After you take her to lessons, you should take the afternoon off.” Thom’s warm fingers brushed down the slight curve of her hip like an invitation. “I could slip away here. Nobody will notice I’m gone. We could go out for a ride, or…”

Varania didn’t believe that for a moment. Someone would notice he was gone and she was certain somebody would notice she had vanished as well. She had already endured a fair few pointed comments and random snickering. And yet…

 

_Thom’s hand passed gently over Sabina’s curls as he laid her on her bed. Varania twitched the blanket out over her with one brisk movement, watching it settle over the sleeping child like a cloud. She patted the edges down out of habit and gingerly leaned over to place a kiss on Sabina’s cheek._

_“How bad does it hurt?” Thom worried, his hand hovering just inches from her abdomen, from the strips of linen lined with elfroot that Hawke had twined over and over her skin, hiding all evidence of the demon’s claws._

_“I have been hurt worse.” Varania whispered as she straightened. “It is nothing to worry about. Tomorrow I will be as well as I was. You came through without even a scratch?”_

_“I think that blasted dragon singed my beard.” Thom grumbled. “Beyond that, just some bruises. Sure I’ll feel ‘em tomorrow. I’m just… relieved.”_

_Varania knew the feeling, knew it in her very bones. She smiled down at Sabina before turning to Thom, cupping his cheek in her thin fingers. His beard was so soft, and the calloused hand he lifted to the back of hers was burning with warmth. “I told you I’d return to you, my lady. I always will.”_

_“You promise things so casually.” Varania chided, unable to ignore the swelling joy in her heart._

_“I’ve yet to promise you the moon and stars.” He reasoned, grinning down at her. Varania laughed._

_“I wouldn’t know what to do with them.” She admitted. His other hand was creeping gently around her abdomen, over the bandages under her dress, resting on her slim hips._

_“Maker’s breath, I love you.” Thom breathed, leaning down. “I’ve waited so long to tell you that, now here we are.”_

_She wanted to kiss him. Wanted it more desperately than she should have, wanted it so much she could feel it ache in her bones. Still, she moved one finger to his lips as if to hush him as he leaned forward. She closed her eyes, took a deep steadying breath. “There are things you should know. Now, before we go farther.”_

_“It won’t change anything.” Thom frowned, brow furrowing as he stared down at her. His other hand, now freed, joined it’s partner on her hips. “And you must be tired. We don’t have to…”_

_“I want to.” Varania felt the glass of wine she’d had churn in her stomach. It was better to be quick, to pull the blade from flesh as fast as possible. Lingering would only make it more painful when it, inevitably, arose. Best to do it now. “It must be done. I wish to do it now.”_

_Thom slumped his shoulders in defeat, nodding. He made to sit in the chair by the desk, but Varania caught him, guided him to the edge of her bed instead. She had made it that morning, tucked the corners in as she had been trained to do. She had no idea why she insisted on continuing to keep up the same methods that had been ground into her mind._

_Was it wrong that she found the neat and tidy corners comforting? She did not know._

_She sat beside him, but did not look at him. It was easier if she didn’t have to watch his face, that she knew. And if she looked at the door, she could keep reminding herself it would not open upon Minrathous or Qarinus. She took a deep breath until she felt the wounds on her ribs throb in protest. Then she exhaled in a mighty gust and began. “I was fifteen when I met Sabina’s father. I was sixteen when Leto won my freedom. That year was the year that changed everything.”_

_And she told him everything._

_She had not told many people any of her story. She had never told someone all of it. With Nico, she had not needed to, and he had been the only one she had ever trusted enough to do so. He had known the worst of it, he had needed caught up only on what came after. Fenris… perhaps, one day, she would be able to go back through that entire year with him and Reyna. But she suspected Fenris remembered the worst of it. Anything else would simply be extraneous detail. Better to talk about the times before, which hadn’t been great by all means but had not been awful all the time._

_She found it was easier than she thought it would be. As if she was telling someone else’s story. It was not Varania bleeding in a closet, aching and violated, wishing she had died rather than see the impotent fury and pity on Leto’s face. It had been another poor, unfortunate girl. One long gone, one who had died the day she left her brother behind or the day she buried her mother. That girl did not exist anymore._

_Except, sometimes, she did. In Dorian’s tent in the Arbor Wilds, even as he crouched as far away from her as he could, dutifully writing what she wanted. His cloying masculine scent so utterly and devastatingly familiar she could feel the cold sweat of fear dripping down her neck. Even sometimes when Nico had gently traced his hand in a path down her thighs and it had caused her to freeze in fear because that had been the same path the blade had taken as she had shivered prone and helpless beneath the Magister’s favored apprentice. It had been so long, but there were things her skin remembered as if it was yesterday. A dark memory her blood and bones could not forget._

_“I wish I could promise you that I would not...struggle.” Varania’s voice felt distant, hollow in her own ears. “But I think I still will. I do not know if I will ever not. I have with every… man or woman I have taken to bed. Not all the time, but sometimes. I know it is much to ask…”_

_“It is nothing to ask.” Thom’s growl was vehement. “It is nothing for me to give. You deserve so much more than basic patience.”_

_Varania risked looking at him from the corner of her eye. He was looking at her, dark eyes bright and lips tight in a frown. His hands rested on his knees, fists clenched. “I can do better than that by you, I swear it. I will do whatever you need, whenever you ask it.”_

_Again with his easy promises. She was torn between a surge of amusement and exasperation. She wasn’t quite certain how to express either of them. Neither could she ignore the tentative unfurling of something bright in her chest. He reached out, gently taking her hand in his, running his calloused thumb over the back of her knuckles. “Are you safe? Are there people looking for you and Bina in Tevinter?”_

_She had thought she was safe once. She had thought she’d slipped through their fingers until the day Danarius had darkened her door with his cool smile and his assurances that Corix need not know, that everything could be fixed if only she would just cooperate and hand over her brother. The brother that wanted her, loved her, would have died for her._

_She’d thought she’d been safe again when she’d returned from Kirkwall, broken shards of her heart bleeding but alive and her secret safe, all who knew it dead. So she had hoped, so she had wished. But she hadn’t been. Somehow, someone had known. Someone had told._

_But it was behind her. Minrathous, Tevinter, Corix’s dead body in a collapsing tunnel. Now there was Reyna in an alley with her magic sparking, scattering mercenaries and hunters to the winds. Reyna pressing her hands against bleeding wounds and scolding. Fenris facing down a demon, promising that he would destroy the damn Eluvian than risk Sabina. Now there was Thom, his hand gentle and warm over hers. There was a woman who may have been sent by the Maker, a dwarf who spun stories out of the air like straw into gold, an altus with sad eyes and a boy who strung her story onto a bracelet. There were massive stone walls and snow covered mountains and more food than Varania could hope to eat. There was laughter, kittens, work to do and people who smiled and called her milady and ser._

_There were people that thought the fugitive named Varania had died in Minrathous. Nobody was looking for her or Sabina there, not any longer._

_“Yes.” Varania breathed, turning her gaze to Thom. “I think we are safe. As safe as we could be with a crazed mage and a prince bent on revenge hovering over our shoulders.”_

_“Well, I think Prince Vael’s quite charmed by you. Not that I blame him.” Thom muttered._

_Varania couldn’t help it. She laughed until her shoulders shook and she feared waking up Sabina._

 

“Come to my room.” Varania interrupted Thom, tilting her head back to look up into his eyes. “After I take Sabina to her lessons. Meet me in my room.”

Thom stuttered to a stop in his list of activities, none of which took place in her bedroom. His fingers on her hips tightened and his eyes burned with heat. “My lady are you…” He whispered in his graveled voice.

“I thought.” Varania smirked, tearing her gaze from his heated one to appear disinterested as she looked out at Sabina. “You said you would do as I asked.”

Thom’s low laugh sent a delighted shiver down her spine. “As you wish.” He promised.

 

Reyna had complained acidly about Varania refusing to eat lunch with her and Fenris until Varania had desperately admitted in a whisper, in between attempting to get Sabina into a clean shirt and dealing with her pouting, that Thom was coming to her room. This had stunned Reyna speechless for approximately a minute before she had giggled like a girl herself and had begun digging through Varania’s clothes. “You should wear the blue dress. That one Madame Vivienne gave you. Where is it?”

“Stop it!” Varania hissed as she began to braid Sabina’s curls quickly and carelessly.

“It makes you look amazing and you haven’t worn it since, ah! Here it is!” Reyna declared triumphantly.

“I want to stay and play too!” Sabina declared imperiously.

“Nope, pup. You’re going to lessons.” Reyna decreed. Sabina’s bottom lip trembled, but a disaster was averted by Fenris opening the door with a book in his hand.

“Varric’s latest scribblings for you.” Fenris waved the object in the air. Varania shot Reyna a silent plea not to say a word.

“About time!” Reyna jumped up lightly, moving in front of the blue dress quickly. “You and I are going to spend some time together before I have to share your fine broody self with this parasite of yours.”

“My parasite.” Fenris repeated flatly, lips quirking in amusement. “That is a fine way to talk about our baby.”

“And poor Varania is exhausted from chasing Sabina around all morning!” Hawke moaned, rolling her eyes theatrically. “She’s going to rest. Healers orders. You’re going to walk miss Bean up to her lessons, then meet me in the tavern.”

“You’re unwell?” Fenris asked, brow furrowing, taking a step towards Varania in concern.

“She needs to sleep and I need time alone with my husband.” Reyna continued, putting both of her hands on her hips.

“You know she will get her way. She’s in a mood.” Varania said quickly, turning her eyes away to Sabina’s hair as she tied a red ribbon, one of Reyna’s she thought, around the end of it. The words humor the pregnant woman was unsaid, but hopefully reverberated in the silence. Fenris simply sighed, nodding.

“I will meet you in the Herald’s rest in a few moments with the book.” Fenris declared, offering his arm to Sabina as she slipped from Varania’s lap. “Venit una, Sabina.”

“Videre possum liber?” Sabina chirped as she stood at his side, her red ribbon a match for the one circling his gauntlet. Varania’s heart ached to see them together, but it was an ache that was almost pleasant. Reyna waited until Fenris had left before turning and raising an eyebrow.

“The blue dress.” She ordered. “And you owe me. Pulling that ‘she’s in a mood’ nonsense.”

“You do have moods.” Varania retorted, eyeing the blue silk.

“Only the best kind. And wear your hair down.” Reyna continued, ambling leisurely to the door. “You’ll thank me later.”

“I will not.” Varania stated firmly. She ignored the human woman cursing stubborn elves as she left.

 

In spite of herself, she slipped the cool silk over her skin, letting the thin fabric settle around her arms and legs. She had not needed encouragement to take her hair down, she even ran her fingers through it, teasing it into a fullness that she knew would not last. She even, for a moment, halfheartedly wished she had thought to borrow some of the kohl she’d seen Reyna smudge around her eyes.

Thankfully, she did not have to wait in growing nervousness for long. Just when she’d begun to think she had made a mistake, the solid knock on her door jarred her from her thoughts. She would know it anywhere.

Her fingers were more deft than she thought possible as she undid the latch, particularly concerning the fact that all the blood in her body was rushing to her face and the tips of her ears. She heard his sharp intake of breath before she could bring herself to meet his face.

“I know. It was not my idea.” She claimed immediately, hunching her shoulders. “Reyna is _impossible_.”

“If she’s who I have to thank for this, then I’ll send her a box of chocolates.” Thom chuckled and Varania dared to look up into his eyes, catching him in the act of scanning her figure from head to toe. “This dress has tormented me. This dress and your voice. I’d never been more jealous of an animal than when I saw you whispering to your horse.”

“Et ridendas.” Varania muttered, fighting the urge to hide her face.

“See, now, and I know you’re making fun of me, but it still sounds good,” Thom leaned closer, his voice a teasing caress. “Will you have me anyway, my lady?”

Varania reached out, tugging him from the open door. He came easily with a breathless laugh as she wheeled and shut it, catching just a hint of an amused smile from one of the chantry mothers who had been distracted from her tending of her herbs.

Well, if this was a sin, it would not be the first Varania committed, nor would it be the worst. As soon as the door shut, Thom’s hands were on her. His touch was scalding as it explored the shape of her body over the thin fabric. “Maker, you’re so beautiful. I’m a lucky man.” He whispered.

Varania reached up, letting her fingers sink into his thick dark hair and guiding his head to hers, crashing their lips together in a kiss too desperate to be gentle. A kiss that scorched and ignited a deeper burn in her core, a fluttering of desire. Thom groaned, pulling her closer, melding her body to his. She delighted in the hard planes of his chest under his coat, the feel of him solid and warm under her fingers as she began to unhook the fasteners.

“I want to see you.” She pleaded. She didn’t have to ask twice. His fingers joined hers, making quick work of the rest of the ties before shrugging off the coat, leaving him in the blasted thin linen shirt that clung so alluringly to him when he was chopping wood. Varania pulled it free from where it was tucked into his breeches before sliding her small hands under the hem, feeling the rippling muscles under her finger tips. She pushed the shirt up slowly, revealing his tanned skin, the trail of hair leading down into his breeches like a promise of things to come.

Growling at her slowness, Thom ripped the shirt over his head. All at once, he was bare from the waist up. Varania’s hand continued to explore like they had a mind of her own, dancing over sculpted muscle, spanning the breadth of his chest. Her thumb found a sharp ridge of a scar very near his heart and she paused, eyes drawn to it.

“Mercenary.” Thom explained. “Quick bastard, but dead now.”

“You are lucky.” Varania whispered, letting her finger brush along the gnarled skin. “Any closer and…”

“As if I needed further proof how lucky I am.” Thom’s voice was husky, his own hands trailing down her back, finding the lacing for the dress. He paused only a moment, waiting for permission. Varania gave it by leaning forward and brushing her lips softly over that scar.

This was the straw that had broken his back. His fingers were rough and clumsy with want as he pulled the lacing loose until the dress sagged around her. He captured her lips again, kissing her with a hunger that made her dizzy. She barely realized his hands had traveled to cup her ass, that he was lifting her and carrying her, laying her softly back on her bed.

The flames of desire that had been licking along her skin became and inferno the moment he settled over top of her. She wrapped her arms around his neck, refusing to let go of his mouth, her nails biting gently into his shoulders as he began to pull the dress down her shoulders, freeing her breasts to the open air. She felt the silk pulled down her stomach, over her waist, before Thom finally pulled back and tugged it free of her legs. In a dizzying pause, he looked down at her.

Varania remembered with a sudden crash that her body was not as it had been the last time she had been with anyone. She had always been lithe and willowy, partly because she was an elf, partly because food had sometimes been scarce. She had envied the curves of human women from time to time, although  she had no idea how dwarven women even managed their breasts. But she was strong from hard work, her muscles tight.

She couldn’t hide the passing of time or the evidence of childbirth. Her breasts had grown and shrunk again, along with her stomach. There were silvery scars there, reminders of the time when Sabina had grown inside her or latched hungrily onto her chest.

The last time had been with a lover, she had been quite confident in her looks. Now, she realized with dismay, she was quite less so.

But Thom’s eyes were still burning with desire, flicking from her small breasts and traveling down her stomach to the smalls still hiding her core. He looked like a man who had been stuck in a desert and who had come across an oasis. As if he would drink her dry. Lovingly, his rough fingers traced a scar running down her upper arm. It was almost faded from time, but his eyes were quick and clever. She pulled her arm away quickly, shifting her eyes away.

“I couldn’t… heal them all without scars. Because of the poison.” She explained quickly.

“I’m sorry.” He apologized quickly, eyes filling with remorse. “I shouldn’t have… I’m sorry. I won’t touch you there again, Varania.”

Varania almost retorted that would be fairly impossible, but she didn’t mind really. She liked the way Thom gripped her shoulders when they kissed, the way his hands wrapped around her arms to hold her before they always inevitably traveled to her abdomen, her waist, her hips like a man possessed. Instead, he zeroed in on other scars. These much more recent, not the scars of childbirth, but the talons of the demon who had stumbled into Skyhold. Thom shook his head in dismay.

“I will not leave you in danger again.” He swore, “I will not leave your side for anything. There’s plenty of things to die for, but something worth living for…”

Thom trailed off, his expression sweet, vulnerable, shy. Varania took his hand, pressing it to those scars raking over her ribs. They were easier to live with and his touch was a balm, warm, rough, gentle all at the same time. “I am here.” She whispered.

“That you are. And I love you.” Thom grinned, boyish in his happiness. “Beautiful. Perhaps I’m enchanted, my lady.”

Varania grinned wickedly, reaching for him. She allowed her fingers to warm, calling fire to them but not quite letting it burst to flame. She brushed her fingers over his chest, the pebbled peak of his nipple. “I can show you enchanted.”

Thom swore roughly, hips canting forward as if he could not help it. She could feel his hardness through the cotton of his breeches on her bare hips. Varania changed the magic with barely a thought, sending a quick spark through her fingers.

Thom growled, capturing her lips again in a bruising kiss as he pulled her bare chest to his, pressing her breasts against his hard muscle, the friction traveling right from her pointed nipples to her womanhood.

“I thought.” Thom stuttered. “Dorian was _lying_ about the benefits of being with a mage.”

“What?” Varania laughed. “What do you all talk about when you’re following the Inquisitor around? Dirty things?”

“Mainly.” Thom admitted sheepishly. “You should listen to Sera talk about the proper way to eat a peach.”

“Que caritas…” Varania mumbled, sending another spark through her fingertips.

Thom rolled over in a moment, taking her with him in a dizzying spin until she was settled on top of him, her hands pressed firm against his chest as she straightened, his hardness pressed right against her slick center, rubbing through her smalls in a way that nearly made her whimper.

“You’re driving me mad.” Thom moaned, hips rising as if he couldn’t quite help it, his hands cupping her breasts, dragging his thumb across her nipples. Varania arched her back, pressing further into him.

She could not wait, did not want to. Her fingers undid the lacings on his breeches, yanking them down with his smalls in one brisk movement. His manhood rose free as soon as she allowed it, a pearly drop sliding down it’s tip. He was large, even for a human, long and thick as three of her fingers, at least.

She wrapped her fist around it, catching the leaking tip and smearing the fluid into his velvet skin as Thom moaned in abandon, loud enough for all of Skyhold to hear. “Varania… please… I cannot last if you…” He was panting, she could see his pulse racing in his neck. Obligingly, Varania released him. She pulled the rest of his clothes off with his help as he kicked his boots free. Then he was bare before him in her bed as she sank to her knees astride him.

Her hands pulled at the ties of her smalls, letting them fall away. She was almost embarrassed by how ready she was for him, how slick and hot. She hesitated only a moment, meeting Thom’s eyes as he looked down his body at her, eyes alight with desire and something so tender it hurt in her chest.

“Are you alright?” He asked softly. “We don’t need to. There are other ways, my lady, if you’d prefer. Or we can stop altogether.”

“I want you. All of you.” Varania admitted, and it was such a dangerous thing to admit. Wanting was weakness, wanting was something that could be used against you. She knew that so well, and she had been so frightened to want.

“Then I’m yours.” Thom promised, as if it were easy to grant her desire. As if it were nothing to promise her the moon and stars, to stay by her side forever, to love her and want her no matter how broken she felt some days.

She leaned down, pressing her lips to his softly as she gripped his length and guided him inside her. There was a small twinge of discomfort, easily passed as she welcomed him, muscles that had ached to be filled clenching him tightly as he slid into her. She caught his moans greedily, swallowed them.

“Thom…” She whispered, twining her fingers with his and squeezing. “Amica mea. Amatus.”

She rolled her hips experimentally, felt him throb inside her. “I can’t go slow. I need you, now.” She wasn’t sure if she was begging, pleading, asking. Thom met her eyes, his glazed in pleasure much the way she felt hers were.

“Take me.” He offered. Varania pushed herself up, snapping her hips against his again until he threw his head back, arched his back and brought his hips to meet hers. If she leaned back, she could see his cock sliding in and out of her as she moved, the place where they were joined both obscene and holy. She brought her fingers to the hard nub crowning her sex and began to stroke it as she rode him, her body undulating as he thrust upwards, meeting every roll of her hips. She could feel the pleasure building, as if she was about to topple from a cliff.

“Allow me, please.” Thom begged, his large hands wrapping around her waist, the other dipping into her core where his cock was buried into her, rubbing her clit as Varania brought her knuckles to her mouth to stifle her wanton moans. She brought her other hand to her breast, rubbing the hard aching peak of her nipple as Thom pushed her body further and further into pleasure.

She crashed without warning, body taut, mind going white and empty with pleasure, clamping around his length in a way that made him cry out in delicious pleasure. She fell forward, capturing his lips again. Thom growled, both his hands cupping her rear as he drove into her with renewed purpose, his thrusts becoming rough, jerky, before he thrust into her once more, emptying himself into her with a triumphant cry. He pulled her closer, burying his face into her neck, one hand gripping her hair softly.

“I’m yours.” Thom whispered into her ear. Varania smiled.

 

They fell asleep. Not for long, she thought as she woke from a light doze, her body pressed firmly to Thom’s side. She was torn between staying right where she was and a gnawing hunger for real food in her belly.

Her movement woke Thom from his doze and he stroked his hand lazily down her spine. She propped her head on his chest, looking up at him. “Hungry?” She asked softly.

“For many things.” Thom grinned as he rubbed his eyes. “But a sandwich first wouldn’t go amiss.”

Varania smiled, pushing herself up, feeling the dull and pleasant ache of her muscles as she stretched. Thom’s eyes followed her movements appreciatively.

She was just thinking of postponing the sandwich when a soft, tentative knock sounded at her door. Varania rolled her eyes, standing and reaching for a tunic. “Who is it?”

“Just open the door.” Sabina whined. Varania froze, swinging her frightened gaze to Thom. He was already moving, grabbing his breaches.

“It’s locked, one moment Bina.” Varania said immediately, fighting the rising color in her cheeks. Who in the Maker… please, let it not be Fenris coming back with Bina to check on her. She wouldn’t be able to stand the embarrassment.

“I heard you weren’t well, milady.” Rose called, her voice nervous from the other side of the door. Varania heard something rattle. “I made tea.”

So much for the whole fortress not knowing then. It would be around Skyhold by dinner. Varania quickly knotted her hair at the nape of her neck and shrugged on one of her skirts, looking over her shoulder as Thom’s fingers flew at his coat. There was nothing to be done about the state of the room, the scent of arousal and sex lingering. Varania winced internally.

Varania opened the door as Thom stood from the bed. Rose’s face was pale, her freckles standing in stark contrast on her face. Sabina was leaning against her legs, quiet. Too quiet, really. Varania took a closer look at her girl, concern growing. She had not seen Sabina look so exhausted since she was recovering from the fever, the child was asleep on her feet.

“Bina, what is wrong?” Varania asked, sinking to a crouch and pulling her girl to her chest. Sabina came without complaint, eyes immediately closing. The teapot on Rose’s tray rattled again as if Rose’s very hands were shaking. She was looking past Varania, to Thom by the bed.

“I’m...I’m glad you’re here, Ser Rainier.” Rose said quietly.

“Rose, what…” Varania began, reaching out to take the trembling tray. Rose flinched back, pulling the tray closer to her body.

“You can’t drink it.” Rose whispered tersely. “You can’t. Promise me.”

“Why bring it then?” Thom asked suspiciously.

“I’m sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you. I begged them not to, but they said… they said we had to stop you too. You’d chosen a side, but I know… I know you’re not like that. I know. I don’t want to hurt you.” Rose blathered in her whisper. “I was supposed to give Bina the sleeping drought after I left here, but I gave it to her now so I can’t take her. Please, take this and don’t drink it and take Bina.”

Something icy clenched in Varania’s chest as she pulled her child, truly sleeping now, into the room, picking her up and holding her close to her chest, turning her body to shield her from Rose. From Rose, of all people.

“What have you done?” Thom demanded, taking a step forward.

A crossbow bolt flying across the courtyard made no sound, even as it embedded itself into Rose’s back, even as the tip emerged from her chest and she stumbled forward, the tea pot and glasses falling to the ground and shattering. Varania felt the warm blood spatter over her own clothes as Rose sank to her knees.

Thom was beside her in an instant, pulling her back and behind him as he stepped forward. Varania heard someone in the garden cry out, the chantry sister, perhaps? There was a shout and running footsteps. Thom peered around the door frames, eyes bright as he searched the walls.

“Can’t see them, stay here.” He ordered over his shoulder as he ducked out, nearly crawling to the low wall. Sabina didn’t stir, the sleeping drought taking full effect now, her breath deep and heavy with sleep, heartbeat steady, as Varania laid her on the bed. Mother Giselle had come running, her face much graver than it had been when she’d looked on at Thom and Varania in amusement.

“Rose!” Varania called, rolling the girl on her side. Rose was gasping, her small hands wrapped around the crossbow bolt.

“I let them in.” Rose wheezed. “Maker forgive me. They said they’d keep me safe from the templars.”

“Easy child.” Mother Giselle said softly, looking at the bolt. “I will help you remove it so you can heal her.”

Varania nodded tightly, reaching for her mana as Mother Giselle began to tug. Rose screamed in agony and Varania looked over her shoulder, but Sabina did not stir. “The child is alright?” Giselle asked.

“Sleeping drought. I think.” Varania answered tersely. Rose, Rose would not hurt Sabina. Varania had to believe that, had to think she had not been so very wrong. Suddenly, the scent of something strong, something that smelled of rotten herbs and heavy metals assaulted her senses.

“Stop!” She ordered Giselle, looking more closely at the crossbow bolt. Yes, she could smell it and she could see the evidence in the glossy streaks along the wood. Magebane. The bolt had been covered in magebane.

“It’s poison.” Varania whispered. “Magebane. I cannot...I cannot heal around the wound if it is infected with magebane until…”

Until the Magebane ran its course. Which would be far, far too late for the perforated lung filling with blood in Rose’s chest.”Is there nothing we can do?” Giselle asked quietly.

Reyna could. Varania almost asked Giselle to run to the tavern, to get Reyna, but it would not be quickly enough. Tears pricked her eyes and Varania shook her head.

“I’m sorry.” Rose cried weakly. “I’m sorry.”

“Who did you let in?” Varania asked, pulling Rose’s head into her lap. “Rose, who?”

“Anders.” Rose whispered. “The Breakers. They came to make… make sure. I never wanted… I had to fight. They said… I’d go back. The templars…”

“Why?” Thom was back, his eyes bright with fury. “Why are they here?”

“The Champion and…. And…” Rose coughed, so hard that Varania was frightened that the girl would not take another breath. But she gasped out the last word. “To stop him. From making her less. I told Hawke… I told her Sabina was hurt to get her… out... ”

“Fenris.” Varania felt the ice grow, cover her heart. “Why?” She demanded, a tear streaking down her face. “Why! He… you could have told me of this! I would have…” She would have explained to the foolish girl the price of magic in Tevinter, the agony of blood magic, the fear Fenris and her would live with everyday.

She could have, but Rose’s eyes had gone dark, lifeless, staring unseeing up above them.

“I saw your brother pass through the great hall. He is either in the forge or the Inquisitor’s room, she followed right after him. It could not have been longer than fifteen minutes. I will stay with your child, the guards will stay with us.” Giselle motioned to the one nervous looking guard left.  

The forge, Varania thought helplessly. Noise would carry from the Inquisitor's rooms, but the forge was insulated by walls of thick stone. But Reyna, foolish passionate Reyna…

She would have trusted Rose without question if she had said Sabina had gotten hurt on a trip outside the walls with her class, would have believed that Rose would come to her for help. Reyna, heavy with child, would not have hesitated to leave the castle walls. Did the woman even have her staff with her? Varania did not think so.

“I’ll go to the stables and organize a search right away, they’re used to me giving orders, they won’t hesitate. It’ll be quicker, you…” Thom looked at her, met her eyes, looked past her into the great hall. “I will send help. I will send…”

“Dorian.” Varania said immediately. He would be in the rotunda, he never left it. “I will get Dorian before I go. Quickly, you have to find Reyna. Please.”

Thom pulled her to him in a bruising kiss that ended too fast as he turned, running up the steps, onto the battlements. Varania turned as well, ducking into her room long enough to grab the hilt of her blade from the desk, then blindly pushing forward and into the great hall. She turned left first, dashing into the the rotunda and staring up above her. “Dorian!” She shouted. “Dorian!”

She heard a muffled curse, the sound of a book being dropped. A tranquil looked over the railing at her, distracted momentarily from their duties. Above her, ravens squawked. She heard her name called, almost a question, and a glimpse of red hair. But then Dorian was peering down over the railing. “Fasta vass, what is wrong?” He asked, irritated. Then, his eyes narrowed onto the blood staining her tunic, her skirt.

“The Breakers are in the castle. Rose is dead. Fenris and the Inquisitor…” She trailed off helplessly, unsure where to start. But that was all she needed to say. Dorian shoved away from the railing hurriedly and Varania turned on her heel, running back out of the room as she heard Dorian clattered down the steps.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *venit una: Come along
> 
> *videre possum liber: Can I see the book?
> 
> *et ridendas: You’re ridiculous.
> 
> *que caritas: For the love of…
> 
> *amica mea: my love.


	85. Hurry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric enters the fade after Maria. Anders has regrets.

Varric knew one thing very well. He’d experienced it over and over again. In the Deep Roads, at Haven, the day the chantry exploded in Kirkwall, he’d found out that everything could go to shit in a second. Usually when you were least expecting it. Sometimes, on rare occasions, it even all went to shit in a manner that was utterly hilarious when you looked back on it later. 

For example, when Hero ran into the courtyard, his breeches were sagging comically, laces only half done, hair sticking up in wild spikes where someone’s fingers (Varric was a betting man, and he would certainly bet those fingers belonged to lithe elven mage with a wicked tongue) had combed and pulled. 

Sera snorted, dropping her bow and clutching her hand across her stomach as she began to laugh. But Rainier’s expression was dead serious, sharp and fatal. His eyes were fixed on Varric and suddenly, Varric’s sense of humor shriveled and died like a leaf on a branch. “We were attacked.”

“You certainly look it.” Choir Boy prudishly pointed out. 

“Listen to me!” Rainier bellowed. “There are those damn cultists in the castle, we’ve got a dead apprentice in the garden, they tried to kidnap Sabina, and there is a distinct chance that Hawke has been lured outside these walls. Varania went to find her brother, have you seen Hawke?” 

No, no they hadn’t fucking seen Hawke. Varric wasn’t even sure how much time had passed since Maria had vanished from their hidden alcove by the stables with the archery targets. He’d been enjoying himself utterly, watching Sera catcall the prince of Starkhaven with all the filthy insults the elf knew. Hawke could easily has slipped out of the castle without even seeing them. And nobody would have dared stop the Champion of Kirkwall, especially with her advanced state of pregnancy. 

“No.” Vael’s face was like thunder. “We have not seen Hawke.”

“There may be assassins. Fenris is in danger. Anders himself is in the bloody keep but…” Thom did not need to go on. Hawke, fucking Hawke, always rushing into any situation. 

“Take my scouts if they’re in the stables and go.” Vael ordered, grabbing his full quiver. “Fenris was heading to the forge, as was the Inquisitor.” 

Varric didn’t wait. Bianca was already in his arms and he was already racing into the keep, scattering a gaggle of serving girls and cooks as he slipped into the kitchen. Sera was on his heels. 

Maria had sauntered off without a care in the world. Without her bow, without a guard, dancing around Skyhold as she always did with nothing more than the dagger on her belt. He’d seen her out of the corner of his eye as she’d left, watched her scoop an apple out of a basket and rub it on her sleeve. He passed the basket of apples, now on the table inside the kitchen, as he raced forward. 

Maria first, then Hawke. Maria and Fenris, Anders wanted them dead. Hawke, at least, was meant to be taken alive. A thought flickered through his mind, caught and then catalogued. Maria hadn’t even been supposed to go to the forge, she’d been told to go to the surgeon’s. How many traps had been laid all over Skyhold? 

Were they walking into one now? 

It didn’t matter. Varric kicked the door to the great hall open and his eyes were drawn to the open door of the forge, the smell of burnt metal drifting through it, a breeze that didn’t belong. His whole world narrowed to that point. He half expected to hear her, the Inquisitor shouting orders, taking control of the situation, overcoming it like every other mountain anyone had placed in front of her. 

Varric couldn’t imagine a world that never echoed with Maria Cadash’s laughter again. Even as his heart stuttered, his feet were walking forward. With a detached eye, he saw his own arm reach out, Bianca aimed carefully… 

The forge was a disaster. Dagna would be devastated at the trashed equipment, the open section that looked over the mountain was blown wide open, rocks crumbling even now. How had nobody heard this? “Varric!” Dorian called from below them, and Varric’s eyes followed the noise to sweep across the cavern floor. 

Three bodies were strewn in the rubble. Varania’s eyes flicked up for only a second before she looked back down, her fingers glowing blue against Fenris’s temple. His head rested on her folded knees, his chest rising and falling beneath her other hand. She was covered in blood and Varric’s insides twisted. The dead apprentice in the garden, he thought grimly. He wondered how close it had come to being a dead elf instead. 

Dorian was directly below them, Varric had to crane his head over to see. His heart skipped a rather important beat. Half of the stairs down to the floor had crumbled and half of Maria’s body was still under the rubble. The other half was encircled by Dorian’s arms. Even from above, Varric could see the outline of bruises beginning to form on her pale neck from someone’s fingers. 

A part of Varric reminded him that bruises beginning to form was almost certainly a good sign. Dorian’s face was grave, but not devastated. He thought he could even detect a slight shift in her chest as she drew breath. 

The more dominant part of Varric snarled viciously at the thought of someone’s hand closing so roughly around that delicate throat, of someone daring… 

Varric’s eyes flicked to the last body, the one unattended to by both the other mages. He immediately understood why. Even past the dirty robes, the emaciated body, the matted hair, Varric knew him.

Anders looked like shit, and if he was still alive, he was certainly going to feel like shit by the time Varric was done with him. 

“Dorian, is she…” Sera began, breathless as she slipped down the stone. Varric kept Bianca aimed at Anders, waiting... 

“Alive.” Dorian confirmed. “Something happened here.” 

“Obviously, sparkler.” Varric responded dryly. “Bet I can guess who’s responsible.” 

“He won’t be causing any other problems.” Prince Vael’s lilting voice came from behind him, the man’s ice blue eyes focused on the same place Varric’s was, bow strung and arrow drawn. 

“Don’t.” Varania said suddenly, the light slipping from her fingers as she looked up. “Don’t kill him.” 

“You’d defend him!” Sebastian scoffed. “Look at what he’s done!” 

“She’s not saying don’t ever kill him, your high and mightiness.” Dorian drawled, standing from Maria’s side and looking around. “Don’t kill him right now, thank you.” 

“Something is very wrong.” Varania said softly, removing Fenris’s head from her knees as she stood. “Do you feel that?” 

Varric felt nothing except the cool mountain breeze, but Dorian’s jaw was tense. “Yes.” He muttered. “Somewhere… near me, yes?”

“Closer to the abomination, I think.” Varania stepped forward, eyes scanning the rubble strewn everywhere. “Varric, is Reyna…?” 

“Rainier’s look for her. Don’t worry, Spitfire, she can handle herself.” Varric was picking his way down the stone, one hand keeping Bianca trained on Anders. He nearly stumbled, but managed to make it to Maria’s side, kneeling down and placing his fingers over her pulse. It felt steady. “What exactly happened here?” 

“Perfect storm, I suspect.” Dorian theorized, picking up a table and shoving it out of his way. “An abomination, a lyrium warrior, and the anchor walk into a room. Chaos ensues.” 

“Broody and Maria have been in the same room plenty of times without this amount of destruction. Hell, Broody and Blondie were in the same place often enough without this kind of disaster. You’re telling me the three of them can’t be in the same room?” Varric asked. “Are they unconscious? Can you wake them up and just ask them what happened?” 

“What a marvelous suggestion!” Dorian exclaimed. “Why didn’t we think of that?” 

“Leave it to a dwarf to point out the obvious.” Varania added. “We cannot. We tried to wake up the Inquisitor and Fenris. They are...stuck. In the fade.” 

“Of course they’re stuck in the bleeding fade.” Varric sighed. 

“She never gets stuck anywhere nice.” Sera agreed.

“Perhaps killing Anders is the solution?” Vael asked. 

“It is on our list of possible solutions once we have exhausted all other options.” Dorian sighed. “Of course, it is a rather final solution, and if we need Anders to pull them out, it would certainly complicate things.” 

“I found it.” Varania said suddenly, grabbing a sword and pushing some rubble out of the way, glaring down at a golden box. “This is magic. Old blood magic, it reeks like spoiled wine.” 

Varric followed her eyes into the shining golden object, small in the wreckage of the forge. He sighed, putting Bianca down and wrapping his arms under Maria’s shoulders, pulling her free of the rubble. 

“Well, now we have all the puzzle pieces.” Dorian trilled happily. “An anchor, a lyrium warrior, and an abomination open a box. Chaos ensues.” 

“The amount of power that was in this room was huge.” Varania puzzled out slowly, looking around. “What is in this box that could possibly contain all three of them?” 

Varric did not like that question. He did not like it at all. 

Nightingale appeared only moments later, looking both frazzled and furious. “We have caught one of them.” She began without preamble. “In the surgeon’s quarters. The surgeon herself has been murdered, and if the Commander had not been wearing plate when he walked through the door he would have had an arrow through the heart.” 

“I’m fine.” Cullen said briskly from behind her at Sera’s raised eyebrow. “Someone was waiting for…” 

“Maria to walk through the door.” Varric finished with a sigh. He had pulled her free of the rubble, examined her for any further injuries and had found nothing more than some scrapes. Still, she didn’t stir even as he’d touched her face, whispered her name, shook her shoulder. He knew she never slept so heavily, was often awake so quickly that he feared even moving at night and disturbing her. “She received a message to meet Fenris there, but Sera told her he was coming here instead. How deep are these Breakers in here, Nightingale?” Varric asked tersely. Leliana scowled.

“I do not know, but I will find out.” She replied, voice heavy with menace before she vanished.

“I sent more men out after Rainier.” Cullen continued softly. Varania’s eyes flicked up from the box Dorian was handling gingerly. Varric looked up as well. “We found signs of an inferno just above the refugee camps. Some sort of struggle that left two bodies charred to pieces.” 

“Sounds like Hawke, Curly.” Varric began hopefully. 

“I thought so as well, but… whatever happened next, it looked as if something prevented Hawke from returning. We still have found no trace of the woman herself. We’ll keep looking.” Varric felt his heart drop, looked across the room to Broody’s sleeping face. 

“Any idea on what we have here yet, Sparkler?” Varric curled his fingers around Maria’s, linking them together. 

“I’m getting a clearer picture.” Dorian’s voice was slow, heavy. “You are most certainly not going to like it.” 

 

Dorian had a theory. Varric had to admit, he hated it, but there wasn’t really another viable version of events. The box was a magical trap of some kind, the writing on it was ancient Tevene and he could only make out a few words. Something about eating the dreams of your enemies, which was very, very bad. 

The trap had been meant for Fenris. Even Varric could see the poetic justice in it, forcing the man who had won the woman you coveted to be trapped by a demon who ate your dreams. It was cruel and unusual punishment, but poetic. 

The problem, as it seemed to always be, had been Maria and her damned anchor. She’d most likely interrupted some sort of scuffle before the trap had been sprung. When the box had finally opened, the magic inside had been amplified by the anchor. It had trapped all three of them. 

“One more thing.” Dorian began uneasily, looking at Anders. Varania scowled down at the man as well. “I know I was told this man was possessed, but I’m not sensing a spirit or demon here beyond whatever is in the box.” 

“I concur, although that does not mean that the demon was simply not pulled into the box as well with the other one.” Varania pointed out reasonably. Dorian shrugged as if to say anything was possible. 

“Well, if all the bad things are in the box, can’t we just smash it with a hammer?” Varric looked around. “There’s got to be one around here somewhere.” 

“I don’t know what would happen if we did that.” Dorian admitted. “Perhaps we free them. Perhaps we unleash a massive and powerful demon right in this forge. I believe that the three of them are stuck in the demon’s lair, destroying the box could leave them there forever.” 

Not an option then. Varric looked back down into Maria’s peaceful face, felt fear prickle the back of his neck. This was not how the story ended, not after everything. They hadn’t come through everything miraculously intact to lose Maria Cadash to  an enchanted sleep, of all things. It was insultingly anti-climatic, first off. Second… 

What would he do without her? 

“Commander Rutherford.” A heavy hand laid itself on Cullen’s shoulder, followed by King Alistair wearing a boyish grin. “Sorry, couldn’t help but notice that you’ve got a few problems. They said Hawke is missing?” 

“The Champion is missing, the Inquisitor is unconscious, and we have a demon in a box.” Curly mumbled. Alistair sighed. 

“Which explains why your ambassador is trying to keep everyone out.” He pulled back, stroking his chin, eying the scene before him speculatively before latching onto Anders with a visible start. 

“Maker’s breath. I knew him, you know. Not well, but… he looks awful. He was much better looking when he was riding on Chantal’s coattails.” Alistair mused. 

“And that experience you are quite familiar with.” A dry voice cracked from behind Alistair. The man grinned and shook his head in amusement. Varric raised an eyebrow as Morrigan drifted past, surveying the scene. “I thought you could use some help.” 

“Unless you have experience freeing people from a demon’s grasp in the fade, we’re quite content, thank you.” Dorian muttered. Varania shot a pointed glare at the woman. 

Alistair’s laughter was bright, brilliant, and completely out of place. “Why, yes. We do actually have experience with that.” He beamed down at Morrigan. “You’ll help them, won’t you?” 

In any other circumstances, the shared expression of having swallowed a fly on Dorian and Varania’s faces would have been priceless. 

Morrigan sighed, looking at the box in Dorian’s hand and nodding. “Yes. I believe I can.” 

 

Josephine had managed to clear the great hall and trembled nervously in the corner, biting her nails as they laid the three bodies and the box on the floor in front of Maria’s throne. Varric tried no to think about how limp Maria was as he gently laid her down, her hair spilling around her head like blood. 

Morrigan explained, briefly, that during the Blight, Chantal Amell and her merry band had decided to rescue the heir of Redcliffe from demonic possession. This had entailed a ritual, several mages, and sending Chantal into the demon’s lair in the fade while everyone waited with baited breath for her to emerge from the fade. 

“We only had the resources to send one mage.” Morrigan said grimly. “I observed the ritual because Chantal was… concerned I may not decide to save the boy if the choice presented itself.” 

“No idea where she got that thought.” Alistair muttered in amusement. 

“However, you are much better situated.” Morrigan ignored the King, tapping her fingers on a vial of lyrium. “You have more mages, more lyrium, and the anchor. The veil is thinner around the Inquisitor. We could send at least two, perhaps three people. I, alas, cannot go. I must stay and supervise…” 

“I’ll go.” Varania and Dorian said immediately. They shared an uncomfortable glance, but then each nodded in determination.

“Are you quite certain?” Cassandra asked softly. “It will require a degree of… cooperation.” 

“There is no one better suited than Varania and myself.” Dorian reasoned. “We will see it done.” 

The gears in Varric’s head were whirring faster than he could keep track. “Can you only send mages?” 

Morrigan paused, tilting her head. “No. I could send anyone, truly. However, a mage’s power transcends the fade. Any other would only be as powerful as they thought themselves. It would be quite the risk.” 

“Well, then I’m going too if you think you can send three. I only count as half a person anyway, right?” Varric asked. Cassandra’s frown deepened and she looked over Maria at him. 

“Are you certain? She will not thank us if you are injured.” 

“Demons twist the fade. I’m not sure about any of that shit, but I know they get in your head. I know they use what you are against you.” Varric paused, gesturing to the three bodies on the ground. “I don’t mean to brag Seeker, but I’m the only person in this room who has physically walked in the fade  _ and _ can claim to know all three of these idiots reasonably well.” 

“The dwarf has a point.” Dorian stroked his mustache. “I can guess at what the demon may use against the Inquisitor. Varania, I assume, could guess at what Fenris would encounter. But Anders is unknown to either of us.” 

“Perhaps he will be resistant to the demon as well. It is worth trying.” Varania agreed. 

“This demon… it eats dreams.” Morrigan thought aloud. “Dwarves don’t dream. If we take it literally, perhaps…” 

“That is what I meant.” Varania snapped. 

“I was merely expressing shock that you had a thought worth pursuing.” Morrigan retorted acidly.

“Ladies!” Alistair exclaimed. “Another time, perhaps?” 

Varric nodded, standing up. “Let’s get it over with, then. Sooner we’re done, the sooner we can go find Hawke and her fledgling.” 

“I will need some of the best mages. Ones who can be trusted.” Morrigan directed. Cullen nodded, turning on his heel. Varric took a deep breath, leaning down to press a kiss against Maria’s forehead. 

“I will watch over you all.” Cassandra declared. “I swear.” 

“Just try not to smother Dorian if he starts snoring.” Varric tried for a bit of humor. Cassandra’s lips quirked only slightly. 

“I make no promises.” Cassandra inclined her head as if in prayer. Varric silently echoed the sentiment. 

Maker, he thought, Andraste or whoever the hell is listening. One more miracle, then we’ll call it a day. 

Morrigan explained the ritual as they set it up. Varania and Dorian nodded at appropriate places, which should have made Varric feel like somebody knew what was going on. He didn’t, however. All he could think was that Hawke should be here, she’d be cracking jokes, feigning outrageous and impossible confidence. 

“There’s a chance you may lose each other upon entering the fade. In that case, you must be cautious upon being reunited. The demon may attempt to impersonate one of you.” Morrigan continued. “Are you ready?” 

“As we’ll ever be.” Varric said grimly, looking at the circle of mages surrounding them. Varania and Dorian both sank to the floor gracefully and Varric followed their lead, sitting on the hard stone. Morrigan began to chant and something….something was definitely happening. He could see a shimmering cloud rising from the lyrium in bowls between the mages, see it twisting and spinning, circling first Varania, then Dorian. He didn’t realize the damned stuff was around him too until he felt a sudden breeze and looked down, his last waking glance was the shimmering cloud erupting in his face. 

 

He opened his eyes in a forest so impossibly lush and humid, he felt the hair on his chest curl immediately. The heat was almost unbearable and it laid over him as heavily as a wool blanket. The forest seemed alive, somehow, the leaves twitching as creatures scurried away. Something screeched in the distance in warning. 

Varric hated nature on his best days. He hated nature he didn’t even comprehend even less. He waited, pulling Bianca into his arms, listening. 

“Your choice of destinations leaves much to be desired still.” A snide voice remarked. Varric’s skin crawled at the familiarity of it. His finger inched toward the trigger on Bianca and he crept forward to an opening in the undergrowth. 

“I think it’s an improvement. No murdering trees, for example.” A gentle voice replied. Varric’s breath caught in his throat and he pushed through into a section of the forest that was less overgrown. Something, a building of some sort, had once stood in the clearing. But that had been ages ago, judging from the vines covering stone, the trees growing up from cracks in foundations. Nature had reclaimed whatever this had been. His entrance had been noisy, but the two figures climbing up the ruins didn’t even pause to look. 

Chantal Amell was older than he’d seen her last, her frame wiry with muscle as she pulled herself up a tree, swinging agilely onto a toppled column. She was nearly bare, linen pants tied around her waist with a rope, boots up to her knees, and nothing but a thin covering wrapped around her chest for modesty or support, he didn’t know. Her abdomen was bare, arms bare. Her hair was chopped roughly, like it’d been done with a dagger. There was a new scar on her face, a long jagged one that barely missed one of her deep brown eyes. She had her staff slung over her shoulders and she was looking down at the figure on the forest floor with an expression that was gently amused. 

“No murdering trees, yet.” Anders answered, wiping sweat from his forehead. “And that’s ignoring these massive damn insects.” He too was bare from the waist up, scars across his back in full display. Whip marks that Varric had never asked questions about, a scar over his heart. A black and gnarled scar beneath his ribs. Still, he looked better than the man on the floor in the great hall. He was as lean as the Warden, but no longer wasted looking. Despite his complaining, he was even smiling. 

“Did I ever tell you I met a tree in the Brecillian forest that only spoke in rhymes?” Chantal asked, picking her way across the column. 

“I don’t believe you.” Anders was walking under the column, using his staff as a walking stick. 

“It was a long time ago.” Chantal’s voice was suddenly achingly sad and wistful. She had paused as Anders emerged from beneath her, looking across the landscape with a frown so deep in made Varric’s chest ache. He’d seen that hopeless look on Hawke’s face more than once. “I’ll never see Ferelden again, I think.” 

In a moment, before anything else could happen, the forest was melting away. Replacing itself with a tavern, a dark haired man in the corner, his pointed features eying the door, boots up on the table as he drank in silence…. Nathaniel Howe, Varric recognized within a few seconds. 

“Varric.” Anders whispered. Varric jerked his head to the right, looking at the haunted mage standing beside the fireplace. This was the man Varric expected to see, haggard and exhausted. “You’re really here, aren’t you?”

Varric hefted Bianca, pointed her at Anders chest. “Explanations are required, Blondie. Where’s your friend?” 

“Justice?” Anders asked, looking at the crossbow leveled at his chest with an air of resignation. “Gone. If Justice were here, I may be able to get myself out of this hell.” 

The door to the tavern opened, snowflakes fluttering in behind two heavily cloaked figures. Nathaniel stood immediately, swinging his long legs off the table. “You’re late.” 

“Aren’t we always?” Zevran asked, looking up from under his hood. Anders smiled weakly from his place by the mantle.

“I know they’re not real.” Anders said softly. “But it’s good to see them anyway.” 

“What is this?” Varric asked, ignoring the shuffling figures as they went to the stairs, Nathaniel Howe gesturing them up quickly. 

“I’m being tortured by the demon who owns this nice little section of the fade. It’s showing me everything that could have been if I hadn’t… if…” Anders stopped, swallowed heavily. “That’s what it does. Torments you with the things you can’t have. The futures it’s taken from you.” 

“Blondie, I’m sorry. You’re telling me this is the future?” Varric asked, gesturing with one hand to the tavern. 

“A future that could have happened.” Anders clarified. “One of millions. One that can’t happen now because I’m trapped. It feeds on them, grows powerful from the energy of the things that could have happened, but won’t.” 

Varric had hundreds of questions. He couldn’t even know where to start. “Hawke’s gone.” Varric growled. “Where did your cult take her?” 

“I can’t… I can barely remember Varric. You have to believe me. I don’t even know…” Anders began, spreading his hands helplessly in front of him. 

Before Varric could call bullshit, a card dropped lazily from the ceiling, fell onto the floor between him and Blondie. Their eyes were both drawn, startled, to the beams of the tavern. Nothing moved, nothing appeared. Varric’s eyes fell to the card on the floor and his stomach jumped. 

He knew that card. Knew the deck it belonged to. The knight of wands in his full regalia, charging ahead full speed.  He’d seen it in Maria’s hand more than once, held it himself many times. Varric stooped to pick it up, flipping it over as if he expected to find a message on the back. “Well, that hasn’t happened before.” Anders drawled. “Something…” 

The tavern door opened, but no snow flew in. Instead, Varric could see sickly green light behind the figure standing in the doorway. Dorian Pavus raised an eyebrow, inclining his head. “Ah, Varric. Good to see you.” Dorian glanced approvingly at Anders. “Less so, you.”  

“Sparkler.” Varric greeted cheerfully. “Are you responsible for this?” Varric tipped the angel of death forward, flashing it before Dorian's eyes. Dorian nodded in recognition and he held up a green fletched arrow. Varric's heart soared. 

“This was embedded in the door I just opened. It seems our resourceful little minx has managed to slip the demon.” Dorian grinned broadly, hopefully. 

“Unlikely.” Anders muttered as the tavern changed in a blink again. Varric recognized this place, the courtyard of Skyhold, but the crowd was deady silent as an emaciated man, Anders again, knelt on a scaffold. A man holding an axe behind him, looking into the crowd as if waiting for a signal. Anders, the real Anders, closed his eyes and sagged back against the stone wall. Dorian was now standing in the door leading to the dungeons, but the space outside of that door hadn’t changed. 

“Damnit, Blondie.” Varric muttered, throwing Bianca over his shoulder and reaching out to grab the skinny man’s arm, tugging him towards the open door. “Let’s go.” 

Varric had his back turned, but he heard the thud of the axe, the collective gasp of the crowd, and saw the blood drain from Dorian’s face before he shoved Anders out the door. 

 

The demon’s realm was full of doors as far as the eye could see. They floated in midair, attached to nothing. The sea of doors stretched endlessly in all directions, spinning staircase leading to each one. They were below them, above them, anywhere Varric turned. He whistled, low in his throat, as he looked around. 

“So, tell me, do you even know what sort of blasted demon you brought into Skyhold?” Dorian demanded of the other mage. “Or is it all the same after being possessed? One demon is just like another?” 

“I was not possessed by a demon.” Anders retorted. Varric laughed harshly, without humor and Anders face sunk into a pensive frown. “Not at first, anyway.” 

“Helpful.” Dorian sniffed. 

“It’s an augury.” Anders whispered. Dorian stiffened, fist clenching on his staff. “It feeds on the future of the people trapped here. It was…. Fenris was supposed to be the one trapped in it.”

“Poetic.” Dorian’s voice dripped acid. “A demon who feeds on the future feasting on the hopes and dreams of the man chosen by the woman who spurned you.” 

“Andraste’s tits, Anders.” Varric groaned.

“Well, I’m dying too. And if I don’t die, that dwarf is going to have me killed. So, really…” Anders protested weakly.

“You better hope Maria executes you. It’d be kinder than turning you over to Hawke once she finds out about this.” Varric shoved the mage backwards again in frustration. “What in the blighted hell? What did we do to deserve this?” 

Dorian gripped Varric’s shoulder firmly, looking down at the arrow in his hand with a sadness so deep, Varric felt it cut at his own heart. “Varric, it was a trap meant for the elf, but it caught something more tempting.” 

“She wasn’t supposed to be there!” Anders rushed to claim as Varric’s fist gripped the dirty, torn robes. 

“If she’d have gone where she was supposed to, she might be dead!” Varric spat furiously. 

“If this demon is an augury… it feeds on possibilities. If a person is a stone thrown into a lake, the augury is lapping at the ripples. Every future that person impacted, everything that could have happened, but won’t, because she isn’t there.” Dorian pondered aloud, growing horror evident on his face. “It’s consuming her. These doors… Varric, they’re her doors. Every future the Inquisitor may have touched, everything she could have caused. Every life, every moment, every infinite second.” 

“Dorian, there has to be thousands of doors.” Varric’s thoughts were whirring. 

“Because she is who she is. Whose future has as many possibilities as hers? This demon isn’t eating Anders and Fenris, it’s toying with them while it…” Dorian stopped, looking down at the arrow again. 

The words hung unsaid in the air. Varric took a shaky step back, ran his hand along his stubble briskly. In his other hand, clenched tightly in his fist, was the card from Maria’s deck. He opened his fingers, revealing it again. “Sparkler, that’s her arrow. This is her card.”

“Which is all a good sign. She’s still alive, conscious. Fighting, even. Maybe the demon bit off a bit more than it could chew. The anchor gives her an edge, might allow her to manipulate this world to a degree.” Dorian mused. “Perhaps she knows we’re here?” 

“Or the demon does and it is directing you to where it wants to go.” Anders reasoned, curling his shoulders in on himself. “We should find a way out ourselves. The dwarf’s lost. I saw it take her. Then I was in there.” He jerked his chin, at the door behind him. 

Dorian and Varric both turned stunned gazes at Andes before Varric laughed again, humorlessly. “Blondie, we’re not here to save you.” 

“If anyone gets left behind, I don’t even think we’ll need to take a vote.” Dorian agreed before turning back to Varric. “I think we should find the elves first. Varania is our other mage worth a damn and if we must fight an augury, I’d prefer not to be the only one doing the heavy lifting.” 

“So we just start opening doors?” Varric asked, gesturing around them. 

As if in answer to his question, someone laughed. Dorian raised his staff in alarm, twisting to look around them. The laughter wasn’t familiar, but it resonated in the space, filled Varric with the same reassuring heat as a cup of hot coffee on a cold morning. Anders pointed down silently, Varric followed his finger, caught sight of a small figure descending one of the staircases. 

It was wearing a hooded cape that skimmed the steps as it walked briskly. Then it paused, waiting, cocking its head as if it were listening. It was hard, because of the distance, but if Varric had to guess he would have said the figure was a dwarf. 

“Inquisitor!” Dorian called. The figure didn’t respond, didn’t move at all. Then, slowly, deliberately, it continued onward down the steps. 

“That’s not her.” Varric said immediately. The figure could have been a woman, the height was about right for Maria, but her hips didn’t roll the same way. This dwarf bounced instead of swaggered. Still, there was something in the easy gait that reminded him of Maria for a reason he couldn’t quite put his finger on. “It could be her sister.” 

The figure vanished in a puff of wind, gone in an instant. “I think whoever it was would like us to go in that direction.” 

Dorian shrugged as if to agree that any plan was better than no plan and began to move to the nearest set of stairs. 

“Wait!” Anders called as Varric turned. “Let me go with you. I can help. Set it right.” 

“Not sure you can anymore, Blondie.” Varric said heavily, refusing to turn back and meet those haunted amber eyes. “But I won’t stop you, whatever you do. You may owe it to Hawke to save the father of her child.” 

“Father of her child?” Anders echoed weakly. Varric hissed, turning to look over his shoulder as Anders swayed. 

“Yes.” Varric said simply. “Baby Hawke is probably on his or her way right now, thanks to you. And we’re in the fucking fade. Again.” 

“Varric!” Dorian called sharply from below. “You’re going to want to see this!” 

Without another word, Varric turned and took the steps quickly and lightly. He heard Anders follow him. Dorian was standing in front of another door further down from where the figure had vanished, an arrow imbedded in thick wood. It was fletched with green feathers and was pinning one of Maria’s cards to the door frame. 

The illustration on the card was a tanned hand gripping a sword tightly and raising it. A crown adorned the sword. Varric had never noticed that, if someone added some graceful white lines, it would have been Fenris’s hand gripping the blade.

Varric ripped the arrow from the wood, pulled the card free. He flipped the ace of swords over and looked at the back of the card. His blood ran cold as he looked at the word scrawled in dried blood, letters formed clumsily as if with a finger instead of a pen. 

_ Hurry _ . 


	86. Blackbird

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The demon torments Fenris. Varania attempts a bold rescue.

The girl in Fenris’s lap was humming under her breath. The song was familiar, he swore he could hear Varania singing the words as the child hummed. His tan fingers were combing through silky, soft dark hair as she continued, a drifting piece of the lyric rising to his mind…

_ Blackbird singing in the dead of night…  _

He peeked over her slim shoulder, saw the book clutched in her hands, an illustration of a fierce dragon curling over one whole page. Her small fingers were tracing under the lines as she read them.  Gently, he tucked the piece of hair behind the child’s ear. Not Elven, too rounded, but still just a bit more pointed that it should have been. He smiled to himself. 

“What is this word?” The child asked as her finger stopped, turning piercing green eyes up toward him. Her face was somber, thoughtful. 

“Try to sound it.” Fenris instructed. The child turned her face back to the book, pursing her lips thoughtfully. 

“Ly… li...” She struggled. 

“The great beast could control the…” Fenris began the sentence again. The child frowned and Fenris chuckled. “What could a dragon control, paulo mus?” 

“Fire.” She answered quickly with a flash of a grin. 

“You know how to spell fire.” He reasoned. “And ice.” 

“Lightning?” She asked. Fenris nodded in approval. She scowled down at the page. 

“Why is it spelled like that?” She asked. “There is no g in it.” 

“I asked the same question when I learned.” Fenris reassured her. The sound of laughter drifted through the open window. Children laughing, Hawke laughing, a dog barking in joy. “You could go play.” Fenris offered the child in his lap. 

“I want to read with you.” She whined, leaning her dark head back against him, “I want to know what happens next.” 

“This isn’t real.” A voice said gently from the floor to his left. He looked away from the child, down at the ground. Maria Cadash was laying on the wooden floor, her red hair spilling around her head like wine, eyes glued to the ceiling. She didn’t belong there, didn’t belong here. But, somehow, she seemed more real than any of this. Her palm sparked angrily, throwing shimmering green lights all over white washed walls. Walls that were cracking even as he looked at them. “I’m sorry, Fenris. I can’t keep it out.” 

Keep it out. Cadash’s eyes were squeezed shut tight, fist clenched. Even as he watched, he could see something dark, shapeless, wrapping around her. “Do you remember?” She asked, her voice a strangled whisper. 

He did, and the moment he did, the child in his arms crumbled to dust. The laughter outside turned to screams, and purple smoke pushed through the cracks in the whitewashed walls. Cadash was surrounded by burnt cards, shattered bottles of whiskey and ale, wilted blue flowers, broken arrows. The refuse of her life. 

Then, in a great billow of smoke, she vanished as well. 

 

Fenris blinked, but it was long enough for his eyes to open upon something completely different. A stone cell, a dungeon he didn’t know. There was a grated opening high up, so small he doubted he could slip anything but the thinnest of books through it if he ripped the bars free. But the more pressing issue was the screaming echoing, not from this cell but another. They were cries of agony, wails of torment that were unceasing. They echoed shrilly off the stones, reverberated in the very air, chilled Fenris down to his very bones. 

In the moments between screams, he could make out the wrenching sobs of the figure in this cell, kneeling in the dark with her dark head pressed against the cold stones. One hand was pressed next to her head, knuckles raw and bleeding from where she had apparently crashed it against the stones. Both of her wrists were slick with red blood from where she’d tried to slip the manacles on her wrists.

Fenris felt his stomach churn as he reached for the girl. But his hand passed through skin, despite the fact that he hadn’t activated the lyrium lining his flesh. The girl didn’t move, didn’t turn. She continued to sob, even as the screaming rent the air again and she pounded her fist impotently against the wall in fury. The movement caused her hair to stir, exposed the shining obsidian collar locked around her slim swan’s neck, carved with runes Fenris had seen before. He hissed as he pulled back, eyes locked on the collar for a saarebas wrapped around the girl’s neck. 

The screams died in the air, silence even more grim falling. The girl’s shoulders shook, even as she looked up, bright blue eyes piercing in the little light the cell had to offer. He could hear someone talking, low murmured voices from much farther away. But the girl’s bloodshot eyes were back on the wall. Then she slammed her fist against it again before her fingers reached for the collar, her chin tilted up. He could see now where she had clawed her own skin in an attempt to pry it off, where she would claw at it again.

“...perhaps she is not strong enough.” Fenris could hear the voice murmuring clearer.

“The parents were strong.” An accented voice responded. “And the father survived.” 

Fenris realized with a breathless fear, one that stole the air from his lungs with the same efficiency as a well placed punch, why the screams were so devastating. 

The light changed outside the heavy door and the girl’s blue eyes (lyrium blue, lined in smudged kohl from her tears, so like Hawke’s that his heart skipped a beat at the sight of them) snapped to eyes peering in from the grate. “Besides.” The voice said. “There is a spare.” 

“I’m going to rip your limbs from your body and beat you to death with them.” The girl snarled, lip curling to reveal teeth in an expression that felt as familiar to him as breathing. Her terror hidden under wide eyed desperation. The man laughed and moved away and the girl sank back against the stone, closing her eyes again and humming, the sound broken in her raw throat. 

Fenris realized it was the same song the girl with the book had been humming. The same one he  _ knew _ he’d heard his sister sing, if he could only just remember…

“Blackbird singing in the dead of night. Take these broken wings and learn to fly…” The words fell tunelessly, wrung with tears as her voice broke on a sob. 

“Beautiful girl, isn’t she?” Cadash asked, appearing from swirling violet smoke as if she was made of it. But it wasn’t Cadash, it  _ wasn’t _ . This creature was all pointed teeth, cold glowing purple eyes, the smoke sinking from her fingertips. “They both are. And they’ll be turned into monsters, just like their father. Unless…” 

Cadash breezed past him, trailing her venomous smoke. Fenris lunged for her and missed, stumbling face first into a sunny street. The dungeon gone, the eerie quiet and broken sobs gone. He whipped his head around, searching. There was a line of stalls, the kind that used to line the Gallows. Kneeling behind one of them was Hawke, his Hawke, a red stripe clumsily painted across her nose as though in just, blue eyes calm and untroubled as she set out her wares, sunburst brand bright on her forehead. 

“Unless…” The demon wearing Cadash’s skin whispered from beside him with a bubble of mirth in her voice. “They’re never born.” 

Fenris was faster this time. He plunged his fist into the demon’s chest, reached for…

Nothing. There was nothing there. A gaping chasm where there should be a heart. The demon smiled even more broadly, twisting Cadash’s face into something ugly. 

“You should thank me, little wolf. You will.” She whispered, faux kindness dripping from every syllable as she took two steps back, slipping his hand from her chest. “You’ll see. Things can get so much worse.” 

She smirked, but as she twisted around her sure footing faltered and she stumbled. A spark of green flashing in her palm before it disappeared in a puff of smoke. For a second, a shining second, her whole form fluttered. Fenris could just make out the shape of something much… larger. The demon glared at the offending hand, no longer sparking, and looked over her shoulder. “The best ones always put up a fight.” She purred. 

“Perhaps you have bitten off more than you can chew.” Fenris snarled. The demon shook its head, vanishing, but Fenris could hear its laughter echoing across the city square, even as it all faded away. He pushed forward, reaching for Hawke…

The scene changed, a crowd roared. Fenris tipped forward, falling to his knees in the packed dirt, his nails scratching into it as his stomach sunk. He could smell blood, sweat, urine, alcohol. A familiar musk of the worst things, distilled into something much darker by the blood lust raging above him. He raised his eyes, took in the crowd shouting around him. There was a figure in the center of the munera where Fenris had been forced to fight so often, bodies strewn around him. 

It was not himself, but it could have been. Fenris recognized the coiled stance, casually deceptive, ready to spring. There was a great sword in the man’s other hand, blood dripping down it into the dirt. The man had lost a piece of his armor and there was a nasty gash on his shoulder. His dark hair was shaggy, grown out just a bit too long for Fenris’s taste, his skin nearly as tan as his, and his eyes green and… 

_ Laughing.  _ Sparkling with a morbid amusement that was all Hawke as he move his other hand to the gash in his shoulder, slicking it with blood and smearing it across the bridge of his nose with a grin that was a mocking dare. 

The gates opened behind him, and Fenris heard a roar so great it drowned out the crowd. The man turned, sword ready to strike… 

A card fluttered beside Fenris’s head, landed face down in the dirt. Fenris’s shaking hard picked it up, flipped it over. Staring up at him, a woman seated on a crown, a sword grasped firmly in her hands. The Queen of Swords, he thought weakly. Scrawled over it, in dried blood, was only one letter.

_ V _

 

In a breathless second, the scene changed. The stands emptied, the boy with his eyes and Hawke’s grin vanished. Everything was silent, still. On the other side of the arena, as far from his as possible, a door creaked open. Slowly, pale fingers gripped the side of it and shoved. 

“Oh  _ Fenris _ .” The demon had appeared again, looking absolutely delighted at his elbow. “Perfect timing, isn’t it?” 

Varania emerged into the blinding sunlight of the arena, eyes landing on him immediately, then falling to the creature beside him. Without a word, she extended her hand, palm up to him. Fenris took a step forward, lurching towards Varania’s outstretched hand. “Maybe…” The demon drawled, reaching up to curl a piece of Cadash’s red hair around its fingers. “You should stop and think, Fenris. Maybe you should ask her where Hawke is.” 

“Leave it.” Varania ordered immediately, extending her hand even farther. “Get away from it, quickly. Abite.” 

“Where is Reyna Hawke, Varania?” The demon asked more insistently. “It’s a simple question.” 

“Fenris!” Varania snapped as Fenris paused, disoriented. Varania took several quick steps, her eyes on the demon beside him. His thoughts were becoming jumbled, a mess of feelings and fears, and  _ Hawke _ . 

“She left Hawke to die, Fenris.” Cadash (no, not Cadash, he reminded himself) whispered. “She left Hawke to die, she left your baby to die.” 

“Demons lie.” Varania’s voice was soft, gentle. Her other hand was grasping the hilt of a sword, her extended hand trembled slightly as she approached. “Mihi crede, placere.” 

“Where is Hawke?” Fenris asked, the words thick in his mouth, as if he was speaking through a mouthful of cotton.

“I don’t know.” Varania answered quickly. “But we’ll find her. I’ll help you find her, Promitto, Fenris.” 

“Do you want to know how many futures exist where she betrays you?” Cadash continued brightly. “How many times she has failed you? Your mother was right, Fenris. She’s cursed. Destined to be a maleficarum. A striga that brought nothing but pain and sorrow.” 

A flash in his mind, a driving pain of a spike through his temple, his mother's voice harsh as she yelled, Varania hunching her shoulders and so small, young and vulnerable. His voice, he heard the words in his head as a child said them, heard them fall from his mouth. “Stop.” 

The demon’s eyes widened near-imperceptibly, then she grinned even brighter. Someone was singing, the words echoing in his head as Varania closed the distance between them, her fingers twisting around his gauntlet, more brave than sensible as she tugged him forward. She had always been more brave than sensible, the thoughts were swirling in his head, memories as he clutched her arm. 

“Don’t let go.” Varania whispered. “Ignore the demon, it is not  _ truly _ here. Just…” Fenris dared a glance into her eyes. Shining with a deep mixture of fear and determination. She squeezed his arm. “Do not let go. Promise me you will not.”  

Fenris nodded, felt a wall of magic rise up around them. It was clear, bright, tinged the faintest shade of green that almost matched their eyes. Hawke’s barriers had the slightest blue shimmer to them. “Valetis.” Varania said softly, eyes flicking every so often away from Fenris to the demon behind them with her ravenous pointed teeth in Cadash’s face. His head was clearing, he felt...almost…

His hand felt heavier than it should. He looked down, found he was still clutching the queen of swords between fingers. It felt heavier than it should have because there was now an arrow piercing it, the tip piercing through the queen’s chest. 

The munera came to life with a roar again which made Varania flinch, looking up to see the crowd standing from their seats. He could hear the screams, the jeering. He could see the figure in chains over Varania’s shoulder and he twisted free of her grip immediately, a bellow of agony torn from his throat. 

In the center of the munera, tied to a post and covered in the thinnest of rags, blood streaked across every inch of Hawke’s skin. At her feet, an infant mewed weakly with a tuft of dark hair. Hawke didn’t move, didn’t respond, even as he felt her name ripped from his lungs. 

“Stop it!” Varania protested, trying to grip his shoulder, pull him back. He slammed his other shoulder against her barrier. “It isn’t real!” She declared, her words buzzing in the back of his skull. 

“This is your future, little wolf.” The demon whispered. He could feel it’s voice in his ear like a lover. “She’ll sell you out like she did before. Anything to save her own skin.” 

Suddenly, Fenris could see it. He could see Hawke led away in chains while Varania stood to the side. He could see Varania’s blade at his own throat. He could feel the demon’s power, coursing through his veins. Pounding in his very heart. More power than he had ever known, more than he had ever dreamed. The demon’s voice, not even close to Cadash’s anymore, reverberated in his head. 

_ You could change it, Fenris. I could help you. _ It promised silkily. 

The card he had been holding had changed into his greatsword in the blink of his eye and he raised it in a swift arch. But Varania had been watching his eyes closely and she brought her own arm out, the barrier surrounding them splintering, reassembling into a wall of ice between her and him. Fenris snarled, feinted left…

Stepped right into one of Varania’s ice wards, he felt the shuddering cold climbing his legs as he rolled away before it could freeze him to place. She was behind him now, one hand still extended, palm out in a gesture that pleaded for him to stop. “Fenris, it doesn’t have you. Not the whole way, not yet.” She murmured softly. “You can fight it.” 

_ Why? _ The demon challenged.  _ Aren’t you tired of fighting? _

“Fenris!” Varania’s voice cracked on his name, a surge of grief that made the world clarify and rush forward. He dropped the blade, staggered two steps. The demon hissed, its claws raking his mind, pulling him back. 

“Go!” Fenris growled, looking up at Varania. “Vade. Mitte me, et vadum.” 

He’d told her those words once, when she’d been so much younger, standing with tears streaking down her cheeks. He saw it in her face, saw the recognition of the last words Leto had ever said to her before he died, before he became Fenris. The demon grabbed at something inside him, something that caused him to scream, made his vision blur. Varania’s face set into something hard, harder than it ever could have been when she’d been a girl. 

“No.” She said decisively. “Not this time.” 

She’d been a girl. He could remember her, remember her hair braided over her shoulder in twin ropes. He could remember her laughing as she threw a pillow into the air to fluff it, quick fingers catching it. He could remember chunks of ice summoned to her fingers, floating in the magister’s pond while he was away and they were unobserved. Quickly melting in Minrathous heat. 

It was all there, every single moment. Still, he watched his hand sink to the blade on the ground, pick it up. Felt the demon move his muscles. Felt the demon twist his mouth into a sneer. 

“He’s gone. You were too late.” The demon claimed as it stepped forward menacingly. Fenris rattled the cage that he’d been stuffed into, growing horror and fury as his body moved without his control, against his bidding. Varania’s eyes were as soft as Sabina’s as she stood firmly in place. Her sword hilt was in her hand, but instead of igniting her blade, she dropped it into the dust of the munera and let her hands hang limply at her side. 

She could have defended herself. She should have. He was screaming at her to do something, anything. If there was a Maker, she would summon her ice, her fire. She would cast a spell and end this before…

His gauntleted hand struck her so hard that she collapsed, sprawled in the packed hard dust. He was on her in a moment, sword discarded, one hand glowing, plunging through her chest and reaching… 

When he had reached inside the demon, he had felt nothing. A cold hollow where a heart should be. Here, his fingers expected to encounter the beating muscle of Varania’s heart. Instead, he had encountered something _more_. He couldn’t put into words what he was touching, couldn’t fathom to describe it. There was still something there, something that he thought could be torn free, something that would snuff out the glittering light in Varania’s eyes as surely as if his fist had clenched a heart. Perhaps, tearing this golden, glimmering thing free would be even worse. 

It was like he held a bird in his hand, it’s wings fluttering within. And he could feel… 

_ A chubby toddler clutching a chair, eyes staring across the space, one hand reaching out. Then a sudden movement, a lurching unsteady step forward, then another. A thrill of excitement, of wonder as pale hands stretched out, a gurgle of laughter as Sabina took one more step. Something bursting into a dazzling warmth.  _

_ Reyna sitting on the bed, Sabina’s head resting on her growing stomach, a book open on Reyna’s lap as she read carefully, slowly,  one finger following the words on the page so Varania could read along.  _

_ The scent of leather and hay as a gruff voice laughed and pulled her closer, hands on her waist and the words my lady falling as naturally as the rain dripping off the stable roof outside.  _

The demon hissed, tried to pull Fenris’s hand from Varania’s chest, but Varania’s own hand shot out, gripped Fenris’s wrist. Fenris could see tears of pain forming in the corners of her eyes as the demon squeezed the burning, beautiful thing in her chest, the thing that was too bright for a demon to behold, too much for it to face. 

_ A boy with dark hair and a wooden sword grinning, reaching a hand down to help someone off the ground. Varania’s hand coming up to grasp his, to pull herself right.  _

_ “Blackbird singing in the dead of night...take these broken wings and learn to fly…” Varania sang, Nico looking on in wonder. And it was his favorite song that Varania was singing, the one he’d heard her sing his whole life. _

_ “All your life… you were only waiting for this moment to arise.” Varania was sweeping the stones in the kitchen, singing under her breath and Leto had smiled at her, fixing holes in chainmail as she worked.  _

“Release him.” Varania commanded, her nails digging into his gauntlet. Her voice was barely a whisper. 

“You’ll die if you keep this up!” The demon was gnashing it’s teeth. Varania grinned in bitter victory, tightening her grip on Fenris’s wrist. 

“So will you.” She declared unequivocally. Her free hand had risen, to gently brush white hair back from Fenris’s face as she looked into his eyes. Fenris could see her, he could...the demon snarled and tried to draw back again…

_ Varania’s face was buried in cheap chain mail, her hand digging into Leto’s shoulder as they waited for his name to be called, for him to be summoned into the arena. He clung to her as well, pulling her tighter as he heard bloodthirsty cheers and her voice broke into a dry sob…  _

“It is alright.” Varania said softly, her voice a whisper from below him as the demon squeezed again. A tear trailed from the corner of her eye and landed in the dirt beside her. “It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t mine. We were only children in a cruel world, Leto.” 

“I’m sorry.” The words burst from his mouth with great effort, an exhale that carried all his energy with it as the demon grappled with the life inside Varania. 

“Te amo.” Varania said quietly, her free hand reaching up to brush a scalding tear from Fenris’s own cheek. She took a deep shuddering breath, then began to sing softly, gently, as if a lullaby to her child. “Blackbird singing in the dead of night…” 

A gust of wind blew over the scene, erased the munera, the dirt from beneath Varania, the stands above them. The demon reeled back in shock, turning Fenris’s face to look around at the deck of the ship they had found themselves on, the ocean in all directions, sun bright in the sky. 

“Take these sunken eyes and learn to see…” A young woman continued the song, leaning against the railing of the ship, the sea at her back. The wind curled its fingers into her wild curls like a mother’s touch, pulling them gently from her face, away from her pointed ears laden with delicate silver hoops. She was looking down at her own hands as she worked, a small carving knife in one delicate hand, the other holding a block of wood only half carved. The knife chipped away bits of wood as she continued to sing. “All your life… you were only waiting for this moment to be free.” 

Something pulsed in Varania’s chest, something too big for the demon to handle, something forced it screaming from him, flying to the furthest corner of the boat, clutching its middle as if it had been wounded grievously. Fenris pulled his own aching hand from Varania’s chest, feeling as if it had been scalded by boiling water. Her fingers loosened on his wrist with a bark of hysterical laughter, her eyes closing for only a second in relief as the young woman continued to sing, blissfully unaware. “Blackbird fly… blackbird fly… into the light of a dark black night…” 

“Varania…” Fenris called, slipping his arm behind her back, pulling her from the ship’s deck and pressing her to his chest. 

“This is not over!” The demon bellowed. Fenris barely had time to turn his head as the door to the ship’s cabin flew open. The demon growled in distaste, vanishing as if in retreat as Fenris caught sight of a rather familiar looking crossbow. 

“Varric!” He yelled, “Be cautious, it was…” 

“Gone! I felt it go, but it was…” Dorian shoved past, eyes blazing as he looked around. “Fasta vass! Is she alright?” His eyes settled on the bright red hair enveloped in Fenris’s embrace. 

“I…” Fenris swallowed the lump of shame, closing his eyes as he pulled away from Varania, enough to look down into her pointed face. “I hurt you.” 

“It wasn’t you.” Varania denied vehemently. “Never you. The demon…” 

“It took control?” Dorian asked. Varania nodded and Dorian frowned in alarm, scanning the blue ocean around them. Fenris felt a light hand on his shoulder, looked up into Varric’s weary face. “C’mon Broody, lets get the two of you out of here.” 

“But she’s beautiful.” Varania burst out, and Fenris hadn’t noticed, but her eyes were locked on the woman carving, her back to the sea. Fenris felt his own heart swell in an uncomplicated happiness. He would know that face anywhere, would know Varania’s features and Sabina’s windswept curls. Varania’s eyes were ravenous as she looked, as if she could not look enough. 

“You’ll get to see this for real someday, Spitfire.” 

Fenris stood, shaky, pulling Varania up with him. She swayed, weakly, on her feet and he wrapped a solid arm around her waist, slinging her arm around his neck. This was like he had the time she had fallen and twisted her ankle climbing…

He stopped, startled, looking down into Varania’s eyes with something like wonder. She met his gaze evenly, the hint of tears still shining in her lashes. “What is it?” She asked, bewildered, the sun bright on her hair. She had grown up to be beautiful, as well, her gangly adolescent appearance becoming willowy, elegant. Clever, funny when she wanted to be, and Maker she’d grown strong. So strong. He was hit with pride like another punch to the gut. 

“I remember.” He admitted. “I remember all of it.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *paulo mus: little mouse  
> *abite: Get away.   
> *mihi crede, placere: Trust me, please.   
> *promitto: I promise  
> *valetis: You’re alright.   
> *vade. Mitte me, et vadum: Go. Forget me, and go.”   
> *te amo: I love you


	87. The Oracle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rescue party dives deeper into the demon's lair and meet the Oracle.

 

Varania’s eyes swept the sky above them as they stumbled through the door, slamming it shut behind them. Hopelessly, she thought even if they had all the time in the world, they could not hope to search each one. They were as numerous as stars in the sky. 

According to Dorian, each one help a possible future. Perhaps even more than one. Things that could happen, that might happen. Glimmers of ripples no one had even thought of yet. The demon could be in any of them, perhaps a portion of it was in all of them. And the Inquisitor herself… finding her could be an impossible task. 

Fenris lowered her gently to the cold marble beneath her and Varania was glad to rest, content with the solidness under her knees. She could still feel her heart beating slightly out of rhythm, her breath hitching in the wrong places. Fenris glared at the unexpected catch in her throat, eyes narrowed. “Did you know that would work?” He demanded. 

She almost lied and said she had known it would. But when she opened her mouth to do so, she coughed roughly instead. So she simply shrugged her shoulders helplessly. “I did not think you would allow it to kill me.” 

“You’re a fool.” Fenris shook his head in amazement. “An utter fool.” 

She was about to say something about showing gratitude. Instead, the words tumbling out of her mouth were breathless with wonder, with hope. “Do you know me? You remember me?” 

Fenris swallowed, one hand digging into her shoulder. “Yes. I remember playing in the garden. I remember all of your songs, all of mother’s songs. I am… I have had these memories and lost them, before. I fear losing them again.” 

She wanted to comfort him, but before she could her eyes latched on the ragged mage standing as close to the abyss as he could, as far from them as he could. Varania inhaled sharply, her fingers catching at Fenris's elbow quickly, chin jerking towards the abomination. 

“Yes, we found Anders.” Varric said smoothly. “I suggest saving recriminations until after…” 

“Are you hurt?” Anders asked, amber eyes sweeping across Varania. “I can, possibly…” 

“No.” Fenris snarled, arm extended protectively between her and the abomination. Anders scowled, opening his mouth to say something, but Fenris’s attention had already drifted, his green eyes dark with fear as they met hers. 

“Hawke?” He asked softly. Varania swallowed, swallowed the guilt, the pain. 

“Lured out of Skyhold. Thom, the Starkhaven scouts, additional men… they’ve all started looking for her. They found a sign, an extinguished inferno, but they have not found her yet. They will. We will.” She reassured as his eyes slipped from hers, focused on the marble beside her. 

“Your demon, mage.” Fenris whispered. “Where did it go after it left?” 

“I’m sorry, it what?” Dorian asked, aghast. “It left?” 

“Before the room… before we ended up here.” Fenris frowned, looking around and hunching his shoulders. “It did not come with us. It was… seperated.” 

“Shit.” Varric scratched at the stubble on his chin. “We don’t know. Out the back, I guess. A mountain isn’t much for a demon to scale.” 

Anders shoulders slumped miserably and he stared at the ground. “I don’t know.” He whispered. “I don’t… maybe. It’s possible Vengeance went after Hawke. I don’t know, I wish I did.” 

“More reason to get Maria and get the hell out of dodge.” Varric said smoothly. Varania squeezed Fenris’s arm tightly, nodding. 

“The Inquisitor… the demon was wearing her face, but not well.” Varania remembered the violet eyes stark in the pale face, the smoke trailing from the Inquisitor’s fingertips, the pointed teeth. “As if…” 

“It has encountered problems. Cadash has been able to fight it to a limited degree.” Fenris added, then looked over his shoulder at the door they had left with a hint of remorse. “She tried to keep it from me, but was overwhelmed. Still, I saw her struggle to shake it off.”

Varric’s jaw tightened and he lifted his eyes to the doors surrounding them. “Sparkler, any ideas?” 

“Twelve, at least.” Dorian muttered, looking around. “It would have taken her to the deepest part of its lair. One of these doors must lead to it. Perhaps one should take several doors in a row…” 

“Do you have any workable ideas?” Varania asked. “Perhaps a plan?” 

“Don’t die. That’s the plan.” Dorian grinned. “And wait.” 

“For what?” Anders asked in exasperation. Several pairs of annoyed eyes swirled to the mage, pinning him in place. 

“Can you not simply be quiet?” Fenris asked in a growl. “Is it not enough that  _ you _ are responsible for this? That Hawke is in danger  _ because _ of your recklessness?” 

Anders took a breath to answer. He never got the chance to actually speak. Something red slammed into his head, bounced off and rolled near Varania’s palm on the ground. An apple, with a bite taken clean out of it. She looked up, saw the flash of a small figure on a staircase some distance away, cloak fluttering as she moved up the stairs. 

“If that  _ isn’t _ the demon, I’ll put on a dress and sit in the Empress’s lap.” Anders began. 

“That is the apple Cadash threw at your accursed head while you were attempting to assassinate me.” Fenris snapped. 

“Saved by an apple?” Varania remarked with no small amount of amusement, but it was Varric whose face had turned thunderous. 

“Good, playing with spirits and demons wasn’t enough anymore. Now you’re sticking your fingers into all kinds of…” Varric began to rant, then narrowed his eyes on the figure traipsing the stairs above them. “Spitfire, you good to go?” 

“Yes.” Varania pulled herself up on Fenris’s arm, straightened and nodded. “Let us find the Inquisitor and leave this place, quickly.” 

They fell in behind Varric, Anders wounded face bringing up the back of their group with Dorian right beside him, ready to push him over into the abyss, Varania imagined. They climbed the circular stairs until Varania’s lungs complained, before finally Varric halted. This door was oak, sturdy and strong. And before it, a small bundle of blue flowers tied with a piece of rope. 

Varric’s expression was unreadable when he bent to pick them up, placing them off to the side with a degree of reverence. As if they were a part of her, which Varania supposed was true. In here, with the demon chewing and clawing through the Inquisitor’s life, everything was a mix of it and her. 

Then, Varric pushed open the door, readying his crossbow to point into the spiraling scene in front of him. The flash of colors, the sound of music, glasses clinking, someone laughing drunkenly. Varric groaned in disappointment. “Great. Exactly what I needed to know was in my future. Merchant’s guild dinners.” 

“I think we have to go in.” Dorian craned around Varric, his eyes scoping the room. “I don’t see anyone I recognize.” 

“Lucky you.” Varric muttered. “This is at least two-thirds of the worst people in Kirkwall.” 

“I think Isabela stabbed that dwarf once.” Fenris inclined his head towards a fat older man. 

“I see Varric.” Varania pointed, directing everyone’s attention to the dwarf on the far side of the room, a woman with her breasts trussed up like a turkey fawning over hiim. Varric, a master of hiding facial expressions, looked like he was in pain. 

“Are you sure there isn’t another door?” Varric appealed. When nobody answered, he stepped inside. Slowly, they followed. 

It wasn’t as if they pushed through the crowd, but as if it melted around them as they approached. Varania felt like the dwarves and elven servants they approached as they crossed the room just… vanished, only to reappear behind them as they passed. She did not like it. She could hear the woman who was talking to Varric, her voice entirely too high pitched as she whined about the price of… bird feathers? 

“If this is our Inquisitor’s competition, I’m beginning to see why the Merchants Guild is so very adamant about controlling marriages. Who would choose that sad creature?” Dorian muttered. 

“That woman has been married three times, believe it or not. I’m pretty sure she’s actually still married.” Varric sighed, casting his eyes up and around the room. 

“Excuse me, Master Tethras.” A voice purred. Playful instead of commanding, and the sound of it made both Varric’s grin. As if she had stepped out of the shadows, the Inquisitor was wrapping her arm through Varric’s. She was wearing a dress, which was so unusual that Varania nearly laughed, would have if the dress wouldn’t have been so scandalous. It was crimson and cut low enough to reveal the creamy skin of the Inquisitor’s breasts, the material silky and smooth, clinging to her with every tiny movement. 

“I’m sorry.” The woman sputtered, drawing back from Varric and glaring at the Inquisitor. “Who let  _ you _ in?” 

“Who wouldn’t?” The Inquisitor chirped with a sly wink. “Varric, you owe me a dance.” 

“I’m a man who pays my debts.” Varric had set down his drink, shooting a carefree glance over his shoulder as he pulled the Inquisitor away, shaking his head in amusement, dropping his voice to a whisper as he walked past them. “Andraste’s sweet ass, Maria. You’re not supposed to be here until tomorrow. Did you sneak in?” 

“Of course I did.” The Inquisitor answered with a laugh. “I figured it’d be more fun to crash than have Josie arrange an invitation.” 

Varania tore her eyes away from the couple, back to the  _ real _ Varric who was watching the couple slip through the crowd with an expression of hopeful longing. There was no demon, not here, only the avarice of the merchants, the cheerful sound of the Inquisitor’s laughter as the other Varric whispered in her ear. 

“Varric, there!” Fenris called, pointing across the room to a door at the far end. There was a figure there, the only figure in the room that was looking at them. A dwarven woman with a hood pulled high over her head, shadowing and hiding her face. At Fenris’s cry, she turned and pulled the door open, hurrying into it. 

“I can feel magic...but I didn’t sense the demon.” Dorian narrowed his eyes at the door. “Odd.” 

“It is almost certainly a trap. I can feel it.” Fenris growled. Varania nodded in agreement.

“Unfortunately.” She said softly. “I do not think we have much of a choice.” 

Varric had already moved through the crowd, stepping through the open door. They had little choice but the follow. 

 

The door opened onto a balcony… or perhaps a set of balconies. Varania had never seen something like it in her life. She could see over the edge of the walkways, past levers and pulleys, to the ground quite far below. There were birds chirping in the early dawn, flitting from the branches above them. The Inquisition banners fluttered cheerfully above the huts. 

But someone was shouting from below them. It was familiar shouting, even as Varania craned her head to look over the railings. The Inquisitor and Seeker Pentaghast were involved in a discussion on the level below them that was becoming heated.

“The next thing you know, I’ll find out Andraste was a fucking mage!” The Inquisitor spat out. “How much have you humans been hiding!”

“As if the Dwarven culture could be described as forthcoming.” Cassandra replied wryly. 

“Don’t even start that shit with me, Cass.” The Inquisitor warned as she stomped up the stairs, the Seeker on her heels. “What will they say about me, Cass? What will they make me into, what will…” The Inquisitor blew out a breath of frustration. They were on their level now, but walking away from them. Cassandra had caught the woman’s shoulder, was turning her around.

“We cannot anticipate what will be hidden, what will be said when you’re long in your grave. When we all are.” Cassandra said bluntly. “But you have a way to tell your story.” 

“Are you serious?” The Inquisitor asked, pushing Cassandra’s hand from her shoulder roughly. 

“He has already written most of it in that journal of his. It would be simple enough to publish it.” The Seeker shrugged, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. 

The Inquisitor stopped, leaned on the railing and looked out over the forest below them. The quiet stretched on for a long moment before she spoke again. “Do you think that’s how I’ll end, Cass? Trapped for centuries holding off a dragon? Vanishing into the abyss without a word?” 

“No, my friend.” Cassandra said immediately. “I do not think so.” 

“Shadows fall…” Someone sang quietly, a voice that Varania could not place. It was not Sabina, Sabina as she would be, perched gloriously on a ship with the sea at her back and the wind in her hair. “And hope has fled…” 

The door to the treehouse next to the Inquisitor and Cassandra had shifted, and there was a blade sticking from it. The blade was familiar, one she had seen the Inquisitor wear always on a belt slung around her waist as she roamed Skyhold. 

The card was the Page of Pentacles, a child holding a glowing golden orb up to the light. Varric reached, ripped both dagger and card free, turned it over with a sense of wild desperation. “Does it say anything?” Fenris asked. 

“No.” Varric shut his eyes for only a moment, pushing through the next door. 

 

The figure they had been chasing was waiting for them in a dark field. The moon silvered the long grass around her, the stars were bright above them. And the figure was looking at them, waiting for them, silent and unspeaking in the dark night air. 

“I am glad you are here. It has been… empty. For so long.” The figure finally said, reaching up to push back the hood covering her face. 

It was difficult to tell what color her hair was in the moonlight, beyond that it was light. Varania would have said she was blonde, but perhaps it was only a very light red instead. She was pale skinned, dwarven, and younger than Varania expected. Perhaps sixteen or seventeen, with freckles splattered across her nose and eyes that were glowing green, sparking the same way the Inquisitor’s mark did. They were not human eyes. 

“That.” Dorian had drawn his staff, ready for combat. “Is is a spirit, Varric.” 

“Yes.” The child in front of them answered. “I took this form… she is important. Or she was. Will be?” The creature wrinkled her nose. “It is difficult to see the world as you do. I do not know what has happened for you yet, what is left to occur. But I took this form for you and the one with the fade in her flesh. I want to help, I want you to help me. Destroy my prison, end my corruption. Save yourselves, save me.” 

The spirit was imploring them and Fenris looked down at her. Varania shook her head, “Spirits cannot be trusted. None of them can.” 

The creature turned, fixed those glowing green eyes on her. In a flash, she was different. It was Sabina’s face with those sparking green eyes. Delicate pointed features and tanned skin, a small and slow smile as she looked at Varania. Varania’s blood ran cold. “I’m sorry.” The creature whispered, Sabina’s lips forming the words. “I didn’t mean to scare you. She won’t mean to either, but the mirrors beckon. Fen’harel ma ghilana. She has both blessing and curse and she must follow the call, wherever it leads.” 

“Stop!” Varania protested, raising her hands as if to cover her ears. In a second, the shape had shifted again. A young man, same sparking green eyes, but with Fenris’s strong arms and Reyna’s easy grin. 

“She won’t be alone.” The man promised. “Wherever we go. We are not alone. We have been bound, by blood, by fate, by the stars. We are chosen to usher in the next age.”  

Another flash of light, a qunari woman standing a head taller than all of them, her smile bright and innocent. “You can try to keep us safe, but you won’t be able to. The call is in our blood. The war has already started.” 

An elven boy with blonde hair melted out of the Qunari, green eyes sparking even fiercer. “Some of us have fought it since the day we were born.” 

Before anyone could say anything else, Anders spoke. “What kind of spirit  _ are  _ you?” 

Power flattened the grass around them, a strong wind circled the figure, a wind that made Varania close her eyes against the stinging sensation in her eyes. When she opened them again, a young human woman was standing, not where the elven boy had stood, but directly in front of Anders. 

“Oh…” She whispered, almost sympathetically. “The hero of Vigil’s Keep. Is that who  _ you _ are? Or who you were?” 

This woman’s hair was bright auburn, and her accent was the rich burr of Starkhaven. There was a kindness, a gentleness, in the way she tipped her head to Anders. “I am what is left of the Oracle. You are what is left of the man who slayed one hundred darkspawn with magic alone and saved Amaranthine. Your hands… they have so much blood on them.” 

Anders took a frightened step away, but the Oracle only took a step closer, smiling sweetly with those crackling green eyes. “Redemption will wear her father’s eyes without his hate. A feather on an arrow brushing her cheek. She is terrified, and determined, facing down the hoarde alone. Second chances come in blood and sweat, tears and the end of childhood.” The oracle stepped back, turned on its heels in one smooth motion, melting back to the dwarven girl just a few inches shy of Varric’s height, looking up at him steadily. 

“So, we set you free….and…” Varric was trying to retain his equilibrium, she could see it. But nobody could miss the way he kept running his eyes over the girl, from the golden necklace glinting around her neck, hidden in her blouse, to the daggers on her shoulders, to the way she moved as she walked. 

“Destroy the cage and I will be reborn. The corruption will end. You and your love will be free. I will owe you a boon.” The oracle said gently. “I will be in a position to repay it someday.” 

“Where is the demon, then?” Dorian asked impatiently. The child raised one arm, pointed through the darkness. In the distance, an elven ruin towered. Varania could see sparks of green flickering through the darkness, like lighting in a bottle. The Inquisitor’s mark, perhaps? 

“I cannot fight myself, but I have helped her survive. She fades every moment, but now she lives.” The oracle continued. “It drains her. I cannot talk to her, not in so many ways, but I know she is weakening.” 

“And who… who is this?” Varric asked, waving at the Oracle’s form desperately. “Sweet Andraste...what…” 

“Her mother calls her Magpie.” The girl said softly, sparking eyes latching onto Varric’s as she gestured to the form she had taken. “Her mother’s enemies call her Nala’lomyn, the Thief in the Shadows. But you…” The oracle smiled brilliantly, triumphantly. “You call her Sunshine.”

The sharp intake of breath was impossible to miss, but whatever thought had flashed through Varric’s brain would have to stay there. The oracle, crackled, sizzled, then disappeared with a harsh shout. Instead, a dark and evil wind blew from the elven ruins. There was a willowy girl emerging from it, her dark hair tangled into snares. Instead of sparking green eyes, she had violet ones that glowed with barely suppressed menace. 

Still, Varania’s heart squeezed. She would know her child’s face anywhere, even being worn by a demon. The young woman leaned against the ruined stone, crossed her arms over her chest, and tipped her head inquisitively to the side.

“You wish to leave?” The demon asked in a beautiful rich voice, calm and gentle if not for the bitter undertones of the demon. She snapped her fingers, a door appearing to her right. “Don’t let me keep you. You’re free to leave.” 

“Without Maria.” Dorian hazarded a guess. The demon smiled, twisting Sabina’s face into something predatory and dark.

“It’s for the best, Dorian.” The demon tipped her head up to the night sky. “All of these futures...and all of them have pain, heartache. Death and destruction. If she dies here…”

“Hard no.” Varric interrupted. 

“She’ll break your heart, Varric Tethras.” The demon whispered. “She’ll die somewhere. It’ll hurt more, later.”

“Do not talk to it.” Fenris snapped, looking away. The demon rolled her lovely eyes. 

“Scin quid est, patruus?” The demon’s eyes laughed as Fenris flinched away from the title Sabina has given. “Someday, your Herald of Andraste will ride in fury to the north. She will throw her forces against Minrathous and who…” The demon emphasized the word, rolling her elegant shoulders. “Just who do you think will be dashed to their deaths on the walls of Minrathous? Me? My cousins?” 

Varania made the decision as soon as the demon said it  _ was  _ Sabina. Varania knew better. This was not the first time a demon had put on her child’s face, to taunt and tease. It would not be the last time. Before the creature could say another word, Varania pulled mana to her hand, thrust it out in a spell that cleansed, that scattered corruption. The demon shrieked, thrown back. 

“Perhaps.” She said simply, eyes on the demon as it forced itself up. “We should run.” 

Varania would be forever grateful, as everyone took off past the demon, that she did not have to tell anyone twice. They surged forward as a group, into the ruin. Varania turned, waiting, and the moment Anders and Dorian ran past she threw up her own barrier, shimmering and green, pulsing with light, blocking the door. It was not a moment too soon as the demon threw itself against it with such force that it nearly knocked the breath from Varania’s lungs. She staggered back, into Fenris’s chest. 

“Can you hold it?” He asked quietly. 

“Not for long.” She admitted breathlessly as the demon changed, shuddered. It had dropped Sabina’s form, revealed itself. Twice as tall as the tallest woman Varania had ever met, with long talons that scraped against her barrier, flesh that was stretched taut over ribs, and hair that seemed to be made of snakes. It slashed across the barrier again and Varania felt it in her very bones. 

She heard a sound that was almost a quiet sob, turned her head just a bit to catch sight of Varric, Dorian, and Anders staring at a figure kneeling on an altar, her arms yanked up roughly behind her back, twisted above her head with vines that had slashed into her skin. Varania could make out bloody fingers, the pulsing of the anchor in one trapped palm.

At first, Varania thought they were too late. Then, slowly, weary gray eyes open. Fogged with confusion, and her lips twisted into a word that didn’t quite make it into a sound. 

Varania didn’t need to hear it, however, she knew the shape of Varric’s name on the Inquisitor’s lips as he rushed forward. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *scin quid est, patruus?: Do you know what will happen to us, uncle?


	88. Angel of Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One last glimpse at a future.

The Angel of Death, in Maria's pack of cards was a woman wearing a blindfold. Her red hair spilling like a bloodstain over her shoulders, arms raised high above her head with a blade clasped tightly in both hands. The woman had dark feathered wings that sagged as if they were exhausted. 

Varric, in mute horror, thought that the way Maria was bound was an uncanny similarity to the card. He knew he’d never be able to look at it the same way again. The vines holding Maria in place were dark, twisted things with jagged thorns that had torn at her pale skin. Her head had hung forward limply and Varric had hoped against hope she was unconscious. Then her beautiful eyes had flickered open weakly, her lips trembling as they formed one word. 

His name. And nothing could have forced him into action faster. He surged forward, one hand cradling her cheek as the other reached for the vines. “I’ve got you, I’ve got you baby.” He crooned softly. “I’m right here, Maria.” 

She made a soft noise of pain as he shifted and he winced as if he’d been wounded himself. He could smell the metallic tang of her blood. Dorian was beside him before Varric could fall, face dark with fury and worry. “Hold her steady.” He directed, skirting around the altar to the vines behind her. “I’ll burn them.” 

He pressed his lips against her temple, feeling the flush of heat off her skin like a fever. He had seen Maria injured more times than he liked to think about. Had seen her in pain, almost broken. But this… seeing her this vulnerable and helpless made things inside him clench tightly. 

She’ll break your heart, the demon had said. It would be worse the longer they were together. Varric could see that now, easily. It had been bad, when he’d pulled her from the snow after Haven, but this…

Varric gathered up her hair as Dorian worked. The vines smelled like rot and bloated corpses as he burned through them. Varric tried not to cough, tried to hold Maria steady as Dorian began to pull the thorns and vines away from where they’d bit cruelly. 

Varania screamed, a short thing that was bit off through force of will alone. He heard Fenris say something, something in that babbling language nobody understood. Dorian looked away from the vines in sharp concern at the words, eyes wide. Varric spared a glance over his shoulder. 

Varania’s barrier had sharp cracks through it, like a pane of glass close to shattering. Even as he watched, he saw some of the cracks begin to vanish, as if the mage was trying to repair the damage as quickly as she could. She was bent over nearly double, Fenris’s arm around her waist as he watched apprehensively. More cracks appeared in another section of the barrier and Varania gasped. 

“She can’t hold.” Dorian leaned away from the vines. “Varric, I have to…” 

“Go.” Varric ordered, shifting Maria’s weight as Dorian tore back down to Varania’s side, reinforcing waves of magic shimmering over her barrier as she sagged back against Fenris in relief. Varric reached for the vines himself, trying to gently uncurl them…

“Let me help.” Anders reached, hesitantly, for one of the dark masses. The man flicked his shadowed eyes toward Varric in fear. 

Varric remembered finger shaped bruises on Maria’s throat. Bruises he suspected would very much match up to the fingertips reaching for a vine ensnared in her hair. Those same fingertips that had patched Varric up more than once. That had written manifestos calling for  _ her _ death, as if Varric could survive it. 

Anders gently pulled the thorn free, frowning in concentration down at Maria as he reached. Varric felt a gentle surge of mana, feeble but bright. His fingertips glowed blue as he rested them gently on Maria’s shoulder.

The vines shrunk away from the glow like they hadn’t shrunk from the flames. The deep scratches on Maria’s skin were fading away and then she was free, falling into his arms, and he was gently pulling her from the altar where she’d almost been sacrificed. He knelt on the cold stone ruin, pulled her tight to his chest as her lashes fluttered open again. Clearer, this time. Less clouded by pain and confusion. She coughed when she tried to talk, twisting further into his chest. He wrapped his arms tighter around her, letting one hand linger in her red hair. “It’s alright, Princess.” 

“You’re here.” Her voice was a harsh whisper against his chest. He closed his eyes against the tide of emotions, nodding. 

“Of course I am. One daring rescue for the love of my life, as requested.” Even the humor sounded weak to his ears, but she trembled briefly with a quick, broken laugh that was almost a sob. 

When he opened his eyes again, he was met by Anders looking fairly stricken, almost sick. He whipped his head away quickly, to hide the expression, but it was too late. Varric had seen the guilt settle over him like a cloud, and Varric doubted it would ever go away. “Right, seems like a good time to leave.” Anders said instead. 

“Unfortunately, our options for leaving are not great at the moment.” Dorian said through gritted teeth. “The best way out is through the demon, but we may be in over our heads.” 

“It’s not the only way out.” Anders argued. “Break the trap, isn’t that what the spirit wanted us to do?” 

“Perhaps we should not be taking advice on spirits and demons from…” Dorian began, but it turned into a grunt as the demon pounded at the barrier again. 

Anders stood a bit straighter, fire flashing in his eyes. “Fine, rush right into the demon’s arms and go out in a blaze of glory. I’d recommend hiking up your skirts before it bends you…”

“And just  _ how _ do you recommend breaking the box?” Dorian asked breathlessly. “Are you going to do it? You look like a drowned cat.” 

“No.” Anders admitted, looking a bit deflated, before looking down at Varric and Maria. Except, Varric realized with a start of anger, he was focused on the pulsing green anchor on Maria’s hand.

“Don’t think about it Blondie.” Varric warned. 

“Just hear me out.” Anders began, putting both palms in the air as if he were surrendering. “That is a hole in the veil in her hand. If we poured power into it, we could create a tear right in this section of the fade. It would destroy the trap. Direct contact with…” 

“And what do you suggest we use to fuel that?” Dorian asked in exasperation. “It is not as if we have access to a large amount of…” 

Suddenly, Dorian trailed off, a faraway look in his eyes as if he was running calculations in his head. 

“No!” Varania shouted in fury, turning to look over her shoulder as she poured more and more of her mana into the barrier. Her eyes were blazing the same way Fenris’s did right before he started reaching into chest cavities. “Absolutely not!” 

“It could work.” Dorian whispered, still looking far away. “The possibilities…” 

“No!” Varania shouted again, whipping her head to his. “A magister thinking of  _ possibilities _ is what caused that in the first place! I wouldn’t be shocked if a magister created this trap thinking of  _ possibilities _ .” 

This snapped Dorian out of his reverie and he paused, frowning into the air in front of him as the demon screeched outside. He nodded slowly to himself. “You’re right. Unfortunately, I’m not certain we have many other options.” 

“What is it?” Fenris interrupted. 

“They want to use your lyrium to trigger her anchor.” Varania scowled darkly. “And hope that instead of killing both of you or all of us, that it will force this prison open.”

“We’re also…” Dorian’s voice was strained even underneath the forced cheerfulness. Varric’s heart jumped into his throat as he looked at the two mages. They were already failing fast just keeping up the barrier under the demon’s rage. “Assuming that the spirit wearing those rather charming and reasonable faces isn’t lying to us. And that it won’t blow another hole into the sky.” 

“That’s a lot of assumptions, Sparkler.” The spirit had been wearing the face of a girl. A girl with hair that was too blonde to be red and too red to be blonde.  

_ You call her sunshine _ . 

Maker’s ass, that was too much to think about. Not with Anders looking down at him with a plea on his lips, not with Varania and Dorian struggling to hold, not with Fenris… 

“Do you believe we could defeat this creature?” He asked both mages. And Varric saw the sharp defiant tilt of Varania’s head, the bitter and ironic smile that flashed across Dorian’s lips. Varric knew them both well enough now to see the tell, to see the fear lurking behind each gesture. They could fight, but they would lose. 

It was the nightmare demon all over again. But this time, it wouldn’t be Maria that had to choose. This time, this time… 

“It’ll work.” Anders repeated, as if to convince himself. That didn’t make Varric feel any better. “The lyrium, the anchor, they both exist inside and outside the fade. Bringing them together will unleash enough power.” 

 

_ Nothing you do will matter. _ The demon’s voice echoed, shrill and harsh around them. Varric tightened his grip on Maria, pressed his lips against her head. 

 

_ Your herald has already been betrayed and the world will be content to watch her burn. Her pyre awaits. Your children will know only sorrow, loss, destruction, and war. There is no redemption. A mother will watch her child cradle the body of a lover, and feel her words of anger like bile in her mouth. A sister will watch her brother fall for flying too close to the sun. A son will repeat all of his father’s mistakes. The dread wolf has caught you in his jaws and he will not let go.  _

 

Outside the barrier, images were forming. They flashed too quickly for him to make them out. A hall full of mirrors, qunari that appeared to be stone, an army of darkspawn hitting the walls of a city, a wolf with six eyes, a pyre burning in front of an elaborate city gate… 

Maria’s mark sparked viciously, lightning crackling over stone, racing through the barrier. It snapped the demon away from it in a quick blast, altering the scene outside the barrier, stabilizing it.

There was a group of people in various states of relaxation as dusk fell around them. Most of their attention was on two figures both standing a fair distance away from a large tree. The tree had several throwing knives stuck in it. The larger figure, a man with shaggy dark hair, squinted in concentration and threw one of the blades. It hit, handle first, and bounced harmlessly to the ground. 

“Alright, so ye need to twist yer hips just like…” The girl behind the man stepped up, slowly assuming a form. Her hair was a ripple of auburn waves catching in the last rays of the sun, shimmering like copper, the wind carrying her burr over the clearing.

“Like this?” The man asked, twisting too far back. One of the others in the ground, an elf, snorted in amusement before flopping back into the grass.

“Only if ye want to flin’ yer shoulder out.” The girl teased, throwing her own blade out and reaching for the man’s hips. She placed one elegant hand on his waist, the other on his upper outside thigh. As soon as she did, the dwarf at the fire began to cackle in delight. 

“Watch it, Hawke.” The dwarven girl with the big gray eyes teased eagerly, leaning forward on her rock to get a better view. “Any embarrassing bodily functions will be noted and ridiculed endlessly.”

“Shut yer gob!” The girl yelled back cheerfully, brushing a loose piece of her hair behind her ear as she nodded in approval, stepping back. “Alright, try it now.” 

The young man took a deep breath, drew back, and let loose. The knife stuck, quivering, into the tree. A qunari woman clapped politely and the girl next to the man cheered, jumping up in excitement. A broad smile had stretched the man’s face, a smile so endearing and familiar that Varric knew it immediately. It didn’t even look out of place on the same face as those peridot eyes that were shared with the kid’s father.  _ Hawke _ .

“I never had any doubt. But you… you owe me two silvers.” The dwarven girl beamed, tossing a pebble at the other human man sitting near her, a book forgotten in his lap. Beside him, on the ground with her knees drawn up to her chin, was a young woman smiling softly into the fire, her pointed ears laden with tiny silver rings, green eyes glowing in the firelight. 

“I don’t know if that counts. She helped him.” The man claimed, widening his eyes. The elven girl on the ground shook her head, sending the tinkle of the rings in her ears into the night air. 

“I would pay her.” The elven girl advised. 

“Or else what?” The young man leaned back, raising an eyebrow in challenge. 

Three other figures had approached. A very large qunari woman with elegant and wild horns spiraling up towards the sky, a female dwarf with legion of the dead brands on her face and a wicked axe thrown over her shoulder, and a tanned elf with dark eyes who scanned the growing darkness warily. 

“She won’t shut up about it.” The other dwarf advised, dumping an armload of wood next to the fire. 

“She also may just steal it.” The Qunari woman had an accent nearly identical to Fenris and Varania’s. 

“If I have to steal it, I’m taking more than was promised. As interest.” The girl warned, holding out her hand. “And anything shiny in your pack I decide I want.” 

Defeated, the other man reached for a pouch on his belt and withdrew two glinting coins, dropping them begrudgingly into the girl’s hand. She whistled immediately, picking one of the coins up and tossing it to the young man next to tree. He caught it with a flourish and a bow. 

“Quiet.” The other elf said suddenly, staring into the darkness. At this, all voices cut off. The only sound was the crackling fire. The eyes of the ground roamed the darkness. Nearby, a wolf howled. The silence reigned for one heartbeat, two. 

The arrow that shot from the darkness nearly took out the two humans closest to the tree. Perhaps it would have, if the girl wouldn’t have been as quick as chain lightning. She dragged the man with her as she spun, both of them rolling into the grass as the arrow thudded into the tree. The people that were sitting were on their feet, weapons drawn. 

“Ah.” The one elven man said forlornly, clutching his daggers. “And here I thought it would be a peaceful night.” 

“When do we ever have peaceful nights?” The other human was up, staff in hand, dark eyes glaring. 

“I thought that cave the other night was lovely.” The dwarven girl was standing on her rock now, a dagger in each hand. “Minus the massive spiders that tried to eat us. Audrey, Hawke!” 

“Mags!” The man replied cheerfully. The two humans were untangling themselves with an ease that bespoke volumes. “I see we have company. How many do you think, Sabina?” 

She didn’t answer with words. She too had a staff in one hand, a sword hilt in the other. She used nothing but her hand to raise the flames in the fire higher, brighter, illuminating the countryside around them. 

All Varric could see was glinting golden armor, arrows in bows already strung, and wolves snarling as if they were at the heel of their masters ready for the order to attack. 

Without another word, a flurry of arrows pierced the air. 

 

The barrier shattered while they were distracted. The force of it threw both Dorian and Varania back so hard that Varric heard the cracks as their heads hit the stone. The scene outside vanished, a puff of smoke. Varric had more questions than answers and he very much thought he’d never get a chance to answer any of them.  _ Mags. _ Magpie, Sunshine. Hawke, Audrey, Sabina. Names he knew. Names he would know. 

Varric was not good at only knowing part of the story. Anders had moved forward, arms spread wide as if in defense. The demon had changed it’s form again, melting into Sabina’s skin as it moved, violet eyes sparking with vile humor as it crossed where the barrier had been with a dancer’s effortless elegance. “Accept the inevitable.” It crooned. “Stay here. Live out everything that could have been.” 

“Caenum!” Varania protested, levering herself up off the stone, one hand wreathed in ice as she brought it up. 

The demon laughed, bending over Varania’s form with a smile twisting its features. Varric could swear blood was dripping from its teeth as Varania lashed out, a snap of ice through the demon with enough force to shove it away from her as she sat up. Still, the demon laughed madly. 

“Mage, will this work?” Fenris demanded. Varric wasn’t sure when he’d appeared next to them, but he was working off his gauntlets, tearing them off with a pace Varric had never seen. 

“Yes. Most likely.” Anders said. Still completely not reassuring. Fenris turned a measured glance to Varric as he exposed his lyrium lined palm.

“Wait.” Varric protested weakly. He didn’t want to do this. He would rather fight his way out, even as the demon swatted Varania aside like a doll in retaliation. Anything but risk the two of them. 

“Varric.” Maria’s voice was hoarse as she pulled back from his chest. Her eyes were shadowed, but clear, even as her hands trembled. “We have to.” 

In Wicked Grace, the game ended when the Angel of Death appeared. All the players had to lay out their cards and bow to the inevitable with any amount of glee or groaning. More than once, particularly when playing with Maria, the card had showed up for him at the worst possible time. It didn’t matter, the game was over. 

“This is going to hurt.” Maria warned weakly, her hand reaching out. The mark sputtered uncontrollably. “I can already tell.” 

“Nothing would be worse than leaving Hawke.” Fenris said immediately. “Nothing.” 

With that, Fenris reached out, lyrium lined palm pressing against the sputtering anchor. Then, the whole world exploded, a riot of colors, of sound. Varric thought he was as tall as a mountain, thought he was back in the deep roads. He couldn’t feel his face, his feet, had lost Maria somewhere in the chorus of shouts, of songs, of laughters and tears and… 

_ Freedom _ . Something whispered longingly.  _ Thank you _ . 

Then everything was lost to the darkness.  

 

He awoke to screaming. His own head was searing, but it was the screaming that cut through him. Two different voices screaming, muffled and incoherent shouting, and a pain that was lancing through his palm. Her palm. Before he even opened his eyes, he was reaching out, grasping her shaking arm as she sat, trying to choke down air to stop the scream. Fenris had already stopped, although Varric could see the effort it cost him. 

“Maria.” He whispered, his voice cracked and harsh in his own ear as the scream finally died out on her lips, leaving her shaking instead. 

“I’m fine.” She whispered, clenching her fist as she doubled over. “I’m fine, I’m fine.” 

“Anything you say three times absolutely must be true.” Varric responded wryly. 

“We’ll get a healer, for all of you.” Cassandra was kneeling on Maria’s other side, eyes shining with relief.  

“Perhaps not all of us.” Varania was not quite touching Fenris. She had one hand pressed to her own head, as if to help with the splitting headache she too was fighting. The other hovered over Fenris, barely constrained. Rainier was back, his large hand on her shoulder as Varania scowled in the direction of the other two mages.

Dorian seemed to have come through remarkably well. At least, well enough to have rolled over and immediately pinned Anders to the ground. “As a rule.” Dorian began conversationally enough. “I’m against blood magic. I’ve no reason not to just stick you and watch you bleed out, however.”  

“Josephine just bought this rug, Dorian.” Iron Bull advised. “Maybe stick him outside.” 

“Wait.” Maria protested, levering herself up breathlessly. “Fucking...wait a minute.” 

Varric tugged her up, felt her fingers squeeze into his shoulders as she sat, gasping for breath. 

Fenris recovered faster. He was on his feet in seconds, knocking Dorian sprawling off of Anders and snarling over the mage’s face, one hand glowing ominously poised just inches above his frail chest.

“Tell me where they are.” Fenris demanded. “Now.” 

“I don’t…” 

Fenris picked Anders up and slammed him back down on the floor hard enough to cause the man to grunt in pain. 

“Are we going to let him kill the man?” King Alistair was leaning against a column, watching with a neutral expression. “He’s going to make a mess.” 

“I cannae see my way to stopping him.” Sebastian said sourly. “Let him go.” 

“For fuck’s sake.” Maria twisted quickly, grasping Fenris’s tunic and pulling him back. “Stop it. You can’t get answers out of a dead man.” 

Fenris shrugged out of her grip easily, but he paused, simply glaring down at the mage. “Torture is an option.” Sebastian offered.

“I thought you were the pious sort.” Alistair remarked, raising an eyebrow. “Shouldn’t we be forgiving him in the Maker’s name?” 

“A friend and her baby are in grave danger!” Sebastian protested. 

“Technically, this man is a grey warden.” Alistair said smoothly. “He should be sent to…” 

“Weisshaupt has gone rogue and declared Chantal a traitor.” Morrigan interupted. “Perhaps they are not to be trusted, yes? Besides, this man  _ was _ a warden.” 

“He hasn’t lived as a warden in ages.” Sebastian glowered. “And even if he had, wardens are not above justice!”

“Do you all just want to keep swingin’ your codpieces around?” Maria finally asked, “Because if so, I think you should get out of my damn hall before I get poked in the eye.” 

Varric couldn’t help it. He snorted in exasperation and amusement. Both Sebastian and Alistair had the sense to look properly ashamed as Maria waved Cullen over. “Cullen, I need an update.” 

“We have two dead. A sentry and one of the mage apprentices.” Cullen spared a short, sympathetic look towards Varania. “We also found both Cole and Ser Hawke’s mabari locked into a pantry downstairs. The Mabari chewed through the door. Sabina is still under the effects of a sleeping draught, but I’ve been assured she will make a full recovery. Mother Giselle is with her. The undercroft is a warzone and Dagna is trying to clean it up. One of the infiltrators was captured and is being interrogated. Another was killed trying to flee just outside the gates. We found two charred bodies on the way to refugee camps, we believe it was the Champion, but we lost the trail after that.” 

“There are still men out searching.” Thom broke in. “We’ve expanded the search. Lady Montiliyet is writing to local allies on either side of the Frostbacks.” 

“Lucia can track her. Where is she?” Fenris asked. 

“With Sabina and Mother Giselle. She attempted to get in here, but was thwarted.” Cullen stuttered to a stop as Maria pushed herself from the ground. “Inquisitor, please, don’t push yourself.” 

“Is Cole alright?” She asked, leaning against Varric as they both stood. 

“He was… attempting to flirt with a serving girl when they were attacked.” Cullen couldn’t quite hide the grin. “Both are unharmed”

“He would choose the worst time to discover girls.” Maria muttered. “Fenris, get your dog. I’m going with you.” 

“And what of…” Cullen trailed off, wrinkling his nose in disgust and inclining his head to Anders.

“Time to be executed, I imagine.” Anders said weakly. 

Maria paused, swaying back and forth for a moment before turning her eyes up to Varric’s. He could read her message in them clearly. She couldn’t save him, not even if he asked. Varric nodded glumly, looking away. 

“In the cells for now. Double guard. Two templars, two mages at all times.” Maria said slowly. 

“Reassuring. Gotta love the equality.” Anders groaned. “You’ll be very nice about chopping off my head, I assume?” 

“There isn’t any other way.” Maria muttered. “Cullen, my knife, I…” 

This caused Cullen’s face to drop. With a heavy sigh, he reached into his pocket and pulled out something so twisted and misshapen, Varric almost didn’t recognize it, wouldn’t have except for the swirling initials still partially visible on the hilt. It looked as if it had been plunged into acid that not only had eaten away at it, but had blackened it. 

“Dagna isn’t sure what happened to it.” Cullen began, holding it out. The MC was ornate, even half eaten away. Maria didn’t reach out to take it. She stared, shockstill, before shaking her head silently. 

“It doesn’t matter.” She said flatly, turning away too quickly. “C’mon, let’s go save Hawke.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *caenum: vile filth!


	89. The Hunt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris hunts for his wife. Varric thought the demon of Vengeance couldn't get worse, but he was wrong. Maria is tired of rambling psychotic speeches.

__ They won’t tell you fairytales  
__ Of how girls can be dangerous and still win.  
_ They will only tell you stories _ __   
_ Where girls are sweet and kind _ __   
_ And reject all sin. _ __   
_ I guess to them _ __   
_ It’s a terrifying thought,  _ __   
_ A red riding hood  _ __   
_ Who knew exactly _ __   
_ What she was doing  _ __   
_ When she invited the wild in.  _ __   
**Girls of the Wild - Nikita Gill**

 

_ Hadriana was dead. Hadriana was dead and it didn’t matter. Nothing had changed, nothing was different. And everything was.  _

_ Varania. The name… it hit somewhere in his mind, a flicker of….something. A thing that had made his heart jump in his chest, but he couldn’t think. He couldn’t picture her face, knew nothing of her.  _

_ She was his sister. Or she was a lie, a trap. Perhaps she was even both. Fenris didn’t know. The thoughts raced across his mind like insects, leaving an unpleasant feeling of an itch he couldn’t scratch. And, he winced to himself, he had been cruel to Hawke. Again.  _

_ Why was he always cruel to Hawke? He had told her that he wished all mages would rot, had denied her comfort, had asked her what magic had touched that it hadn’t spoiled. He had been mad with rage like a rabid dog, frothing at the mouth, and he hadn’t realized what he’d said until she’d looked away from him like a startled hare. She’d blinked quickly, lashes fluttering like moth wings on her cheekbones. The quick blinking, he knew, was to hide tears. He’d seen her do it while they pulled Carver from the deep roads.  _

_ What had magic touched that it hadn’t spoiled, he’d actually said that. He had said that to Hawke, his Hawke, the one thing magic hadn’t actually spoiled. He was the worst kind of idiot. Worse than that, he was a coward. Because instead of facing the shine of tears in her beautiful blue eyes, he had fled.  _

_ He had fled. Then he had stayed away for days. He’d even gone so far as vanishing out the back of his mansion when he’d heard her tell tell steps coming in the front. He couldn’t bear to see her. He wanted nothing but to see her. Somehow, he had found himself once more in a mage’s thrall. A part of him railed against her, seethed at her hold on him.  _

_ A smaller, quieter voice reminded him that she had never once tried to use her power to chain him. She had let him go more times than he could count, had watched his retreating back after many arguments, without a single protest. He had turned his back on her without fear that she would be his enemy because he knew she would never be.  _

_ He knew it with a certainty that frightened him. So he drowned it in all the wine in the cellar and let it fester along with the hate, the poison.  _

_ It had been not quite a week by the time he dragged himself out of the bottles and across Hightown. Night had just fallen when he knocked at the door of Hawke’s estate. He barely had a chance to consider his foolishness before the door swung open and he was face to face with Leandra, of all the blasted people.  _

_ “Fenris, dear.” She said warmly, taking a step back into the foyer with a welcoming sweep of her arm that clearly said come in. “I’m afraid Reyna isn’t home yet. She went on some silly shopping trip with Isabela. A hat shop, of all things.”  _

_ “I will return tomorrow.” He began haltingly, taking one step back. But his eyes had slid past Leandra, to the group behind her. Bodahn and his son, but there… a small elven girl whose eyes had widened nervously at the sight of him, then dropped quickly to the ground. She was dressed neatly in new clothes, a pouch on her hip that clinked with coins when she shifted. She even looked… healthier. Fuller. As if she’d been stuffed with good things. It had only been a week, how…  _

_ “Oh! You were part of that escapade that brought Orana to us, yes? Honestly, my daughter is always dragging you all into the most bizarre kind of trouble. Slavers.” Leandra shook her head and tsked. Fenris nearly argued that it certainly had not happened like that, he was far more responsible for the danger of that particular day than Hawke had been, but he didn’t know what to say and Leandra had continued on like a plow horse regardless.  _

_ “Orana decided to stay on and work for us for a bit. She’s such a comfort, having a girl around. It reminds me of…” Leandra’s face darkened with sorrow and she shook her head quickly. “Well, I’m treating the staff to the new play in the theatre. It is the rage in Orlais, apparently. Now, it is supposed to be three long acts, so we won’t be home until late. I would appreciate it if you would stay and make sure Reyna knows. She never reads her messages.”  _

_ As she had been talking, Leandra was pulling on her gloves. She smiled at him again, as warm as the sun. “There are dinner leftovers in the pantry. And the sweet bread you like. I know Reyna will be happy to see you.”  _

_ His heart fluttered at that. Reyna. Leandra was the only one, beyond Carver before the Deep Roads, that ever called Hawke by her given name. But it was beautiful, and the thought that she’d be pleased… it was unlikely. She was probably furious. Still, he nodded. Leandra’s smile broadened even further. “Thank you Fenris, you’re a dear. Tell her not to wait up for us.”  _

_ And with that, Leandra linked her arm gently with Orana’s, the girl falling into step at Leandra’s side nervously but with a shy smile towards the older woman. Bodhan nodded politely as they bustled out after her. As they walked, before the door shut behind them, he heard Leandra asking Orana something about whether she’d had any experience with children. Then the door shut solidly, blocking out the sound of the city. _

_ It felt… wrong to rummage through the kitchen, even with Leandra’s blessing. It also felt nefarious to step further into the empty house. He’d never been alone in the estate, he’d always been there with Hawke, her laughter ringing through the rooms. Her constant little humming as he copied letters to practice his penmanship. The sounds of her and Leandra’s bickering.  _

_ The world was quieter, certainly, when Hawke was not present. _

_ He was unsure how long he waited, lost in his own thoughts. But he heard the scuffling at the door before it opened, a quick curse under Hawke’s breath. Then the door swung open, revealing her in all her glory. She had a staff slung over her shoulder and was carrying perhaps the largest hat box Fenris had ever seen. She laughed at herself as she stumbled in, but the laughter died as she swung her eyes into the foyer and saw Fenris. He rose, quickly, from the bench.  _

_ “Fenris!” She cried out, and it sounded like relief. She tossed the hat box onto the floor unceremoniously, letting the door slam shut behind her. She was grinning, then she must have remembered her residual annoyance because her eyes narrowed and she placed her hands on her hips. “Six days, Fenris! Six! And don’t think I don’t know that you didn’t sneak out the back when I went by your place because you’re certainly not as quiet as you think you are. Varric and I have a running bet on how long you were going to avoid me this time.”  _

_ “Have you won?” He asked simply. Hawke’s annoyed frown deepened. _

_ “No.” She admitted churlishly. “I said eight days. Damn Varric. I think you and him are in cahoots, that’s what I think.”  _

_ Fenris made a mental note that Varric owed him coin if he was betting on his actions. Then he took a step forward, the rehearsed lines falling from his lips. “I’ve been thinking about what happened… with Hadriana. I took out my anger on you, undeservedly so. I was… not myself. I am sorry.”  _

_ Hawke’s blue eyes widened in shock and her mouth popped open into a small “o” shape that would have been comical in different circumstances. She put the heel of her palm to her head. “Damnit Fenris, and you’re apologizing? You’re costing me a small fortune.”  _

_ “You can afford it.” He was irked that she had bet that he wouldn’t apologize. He was even more annoyed the dwarf had bet he would.  _

_ “I had no idea where you went after… there were still a couple slavers hanging out on the coast, Fenris. Bela, Aveline and I took care of them, but… I was concerned.” Hawke admitted. “Then, when I realized you’d crawled into a wine bottle, I was more concerned.”  _

_ “I needed to be alone.” He couldn’t bear the shining emotions in her eyes. He wasn’t worthy of them. He still remembered the tears he had caused as he stormed from the cavern. “When I was still a slave, Hadriana was a torment. She would ridicule me, deny my meals, hound my sleep.” _

_ And more. She had used magic to cause him pain. She had used his body for pleasure. A female mage, drunk on power. “Because of her status, I was powerless to respond and she knew it.” Powerless. The word taste foul in his mouth. She needed to be punished for what she had done, all those she had hurt. But he couldn’t deny it had felt good to pull the heart from her chest. It had felt like vengeance. _

_ “The thought of her slipping out of my grasp now… I couldn’t let her go. I wanted to, but I couldn’t.” If he was a better man, the man Hawke deserved, he would have been able to walk away. But he wasn’t, and she had to see… _

_ “The world is a better place without her.” Hawke shrugged her elegant shoulders. “Fenris, I’m certainly not crying any tears for her. I just worry, your sister… I mean, we have to find her, right? We don’t have much to go on.”  _

_ His sister. Fenris shook his head. Hawke continued on. “It was your decision, Fenris. I meant it. Whatever else happens, we’ll take it on.” _

_ We. So simple, when she said it. As if there were no question that she would be there, that she would support him. A mage, a thing he should hate. Prone to demons and power hungry and…  _

_ She looked forlornly down at the massive hat box, as if considering how she would get it to her room. She could have hired anyone to carry it for her. She could simply magic it up to her room. But she wouldn’t. Hawke took selfish pleasure, joy in her powers. He’d seen her, in Varric’s rooms sometimes, her fingers ignited and drawing patterns in the air with flames, although she always stopped as soon as she saw him.  _

_ But Hawke didn’t summon demons. Hawke didn’t hire an urchin to carry her packages. _

_ She was so close to a Magister, his head whispered, so very close and…  _

_ “This hate!” He exclaimed, disgusted with himself. “I thought I’d gotten away from it. But it dogs me  no matter where I go. To feel it again, to know it was they who placed it inside me.. It was too much to bear.”  _

_ Hawke smiled, sadly, softly. The target of his hate, the center of his new universe, the best and only friend he could remember having. A little mage, screaming up at slavers that he was not a slave. Collector of dangerous people and foolish trivialities.  _

_ He hated her. He loved her. He did not know which was stronger.  _

_ “But I….” He had had come to apologize, and that was done. He stiffened, straightened. “I did not come to burden you further.”  _

_ Hawke’s expressive eyes flashed in panic that he registered even as he turned. “Wait.” Hawke said from behind him (at his back, because he trusted she was not his enemy and never would be.) “Fenris, you don’t have to leave. We can play cards or…”  _

_ Hawke had reached out for him. She grabbed his elbow, her small fingers just brushing his skin despite her care to try to touch only the plate. And it sent a shock through him. Her mana singing through her skin, calling to his lyrium. It was not like it had been with Danarius, with Hadriana. They had summoned it, used it. Hawke...demanded nothing. But his body answered, regardless.  _

_ He twisted as quickly as if he were in battle, turning and pinning Hawke beneath his body, pressing her against the stone wall. Her delicate wrist was grasped in his gauntleted hand, pushed against the stone and he released it, quickly. Not quickly enough to stop the thoughts spinning in his head. Her skin was soft as silk and warm. The mana pulsed beneath it like a beautiful living thing. This close to her, he could smell the salty tang of sweat, something that smelled as if it were freshly baked sweets. Her eyes were blown wide, and at first he thought it was fear and felt even worse about himself. For frightening her, for acting like an animal more than a man. He tried to form the words, an apology, but he could barely get out a sound before she had reached for him again, his shoulders this time. Then she collided into him, her pink lips pressing against his as if she had been waiting, desperately, to do so her entire life.  _

_ And Fenris had been waiting. Perhaps his entire life as well.  _

_ He wasn’t sure how it happened, but suddenly he was against the wall, Hawke’s palms on either side of his head, flat against the stone and her tongue battling for dominance with his. His hands were at her hips, tugging her closer, circling her waist until she was pressed up against him from thigh to chest. She was..intoxicating. Better than the finest wine, and the noise she made when his hands traveled, gauntlets clutching at her firm rear… _

_ He had never felt more like a predator as she moaned, eyes drifting closed and head tipping back. “Fenris…” She whispered, lips swollen from their kiss, and…  _

_ He had to have her. He needed her, now, more than he needed the air in his lungs. He needed to coax out every single type of moan she could make, he needed to stretch her on her opulent bed and ravish her. And he didn’t know how to tell her, didn’t know…  _

_ He lifted her, easily, off her feet and she wrapped her legs around his waist eagerly, attacking his mouth again. Then she seemed to come back to her senses, just for a moment, pulling back guiltily. Fenris growled, low in his throat.  _

_ “My mother does not need to see this…” Hawke whimpered as Fenris traced his mouth down her jaw, lavishing her soft skin with bites, licks, eager kisses.  _

_ “Gone.” Fenris had decided that if he needed to carry her to her room, so be it. He navigated around the absurd hat box, into the main hallway, past the mabari who raised his head sleepily as they stumbled past. “Orlesian play. Something. Took everyone with her.”  _

_ “Thank the Mak….” Hawke began, but she had rolled her hips and discovered that she was in the perfect position to give herself the friction she wanted against his straining erection and her words had dissolved into a moan. Fenris saw white for a moment, nearly dropped her. Instead, he shoved her into the stairwell banister, surely hard enough to bruise. If she noticed, he couldn’t tell. Like the wanton little thing she was, she was attempting to roll her hips the same way again and if she did…. _

_ “Hawke, I want…” She deserved soft. Gentle. Fenris, perhaps, was not the kind to do either of those things, but for Hawke…  _

_ “Know what you want.” Hawke panted with a grin, and yes, she had managed to catch that perfect angle again to have him seeing stars. “Reyna. I want to hear you say my name. Please, Fenris…”  _

_ Begging. Yes, he wanted to hear more of that. He hadn’t even known he wanted to hear more of that until she started. He sunk his fingers even more firmly into her rear, leaning down over her rounded ear. “Reyna.” He whispered, his breath warm against her skin. And Maker, Hawke whimpered.  _

_ He was not sure exactly how they managed to get up the stairs. He had lost several pieces of armor to her dexterous fingers, including part of his shoulder guard and a gauntlet. She’d even almost managed to unlatch his breastplate, which was simply impressive. He nearly threw her on the bed, his own hands rising to finish her work, staring down at her hungrily. Her lips were slightly parted, her own clothing charmingly rumpled. She looked like a feast.  _

_ “Do you want this?” His voice had dropped lower than usual, to a register he barely recognized, but the reaction on Hawke was immediate. She shivered in delicious anticipation, eyes gone dark in desire, her swollen lips curving into an indolent smile. _

_ “Fenris.” She drawled, bringing her hands to her shirt and slowly untying the laces at the chest. His eyes latched onto them immediately. “I have wanted you to carry me up to my bedroom and ravish me since the moment I heard you speak. This has to be my lucky night.”  _

_ She’d set out to tempt the wolf, and she’d succeeded. He’d never seen her look so thrilled with herself as the breast plate fell to the floor, leaving him unarmored in only his tunic and pants. She grinned, holding out her hand in a come hither gesture.  _

_ Foolish, brilliant, compassionate, silly woman. Fenris knew in that moment, no matter what happened, that he loved her more than he hated her. And he always would.  _

 

Lucia led them right to the charred bodies. Fenris had been able to determine that they had been out for no longer than three hours, total. A brief time. But it was still three hours start that whatever had taken Hawke had on him. 

“She should not have used this much magic so close to her time.” Varania was standing over the evidence of the extinguished inferno, glaring at the charred skeleton as if offended. 

“Is there a chance of harm to the baby? From the magic?” Fenris was almost frightened of the answer, but Varania shook her head. 

“No, whether or not the baby has magic, the mana in her blood will protect it from whatever she does. But it is a form of intense exertion and could certainly induce her labor.” 

“Once, a Magister at a party I attended began a duel. She was quite large, so nobody had thought she was pregnant. She won the duel, then gave birth right there on the floor. People in Minrathous talked about it all season.” Dorian claimed with an easy shrug.    
“Do you never shut up?” Varania crossed her arms under her chest and glared. Dorian had the good sense to look slightly abashed. 

“He does not.” Cassandra remarked stiffly. “The Champion must have been here, if only…” 

Lucia’s nose was on the ground, circling the patch of burnt grass almost thoughtfully. Then she padded over back towards Fenris, past him as if heading for the castle, before scenting the air and turning to her left. 

“She’s got something.” Rainier said, jerking his chin after the dog. He was holding the reins to a warhorse in one hand, in full armor. The other horses were held by a series of soldiers behind him.  

The Inquisitor didn’t say a word, she simply sighed and straightened. She looked as weary as Fenris felt, and he suspected it had been worse for her by virtue of the demon in the fade feeding on her power, her life in the first place. Varric had one hand splayed across her waist and he suspected it was very much to help keep her upright. 

Fenris followed Lucia, past the small clearing and into the tree line. Thankfully, most of the snow had begun to melt, even this high in the mountains. The remaining patches were easily avoidable underneath the large pine trees.

“I can carry you, boss.” Iron Bull offered. “Like when we attacked that keep out in the approach! Mobile siege platform.” 

“Bull, I’ve seen your horns hit at least three trees since we started this trek.” The Inquisitor pointed out. “I don’t particularly want that to be my head. Especially today.” 

“You can ride on Varric’s shoulders.” Bull persisted. “Then you’ll be almost as tall as a real person.” 

“A real person.” The Inquisitor repeated. “As opposed to a fake one?” 

Lucia’s pace was picking up, the stub of her tail wagging as she dived down the hill, then back up another slope. Fenris heard the dwarves curse as they picked their way up, but he clambered up after Lucia, his heart pounding in his ears. 

He should not have left her. Not even for a moment, not this close to the birth of their child. He had been foolish, and if he had lost her…

If he had lost her, he had lost everything. If he lost her, his life had been for nothing. At the end of the next slope, Lucia was circling again, sniffing. There was a pile of dead leaves, trampled and disturbed. 

“Sulfur.” Fenris growled. It reeked of sulfur. Of demons and magic. 

“I can’t recognize the residual magic.” Dorian muttered. 

“It is not Reyna’s. I would know hers.” Varania’s answer was immediate, certain. 

“There was a man here. Mage, most likely. Maybe waiting?” Iron Bull claimed. “Horse tracks. And I can see holes in the ground like from when you mages try to pass you staves off like walking sticks. How often does that actually fool people?” 

“Ten years in Kirkwall. I’m not sure if anyone ever figured out Merrill wasn’t just a Dalish elf with a weird stick.” Varric had bent down to grasp something in the trampled leaves. The Inquisitor saw it first and she swore. 

“What is it?” Fenris could hear the rawness in his voice. 

“Broody, just remember…” 

“What. Is. It.” Fenris repeated. Varric sighed, pinching the item between his fingers and holding it up to the light. A golden ring glinted, a wolf with a ruby in it’s curved jaws. Reyna hardly ever took it off, only when she bathed. She had been joking that her fingers had been so swollen from the pregnancy that she was certain it was stuck on. 

“Mount up.” Fenris ordered. “And be ready. We have at least one demon and one hostile mage.” 

“I don’t think that is true.” Varania’s voice was soft, slow, as she looked around the perimeter. “I do not believe that is true at all. I think… I think the mage has become possessed. I think Vengeance prefers a human body rather than whatever it was without one.”

“But then it would have taken Hawke, would it not?” Dorian asked. Fenris froze, thinking of the ring on the ground, the one Hawke would never remove. But possessed by a demon… she would never acquiesce to it. She would never allow her body to be defiled, but if she had been taken… An abomination would need to be killed. But Fenris could not allow that, would not. 

“No!” Varania snapped, glaring. “Even a powerful demon would need a foothold. Something to latch onto to get in. Reyna does not have a vengeful bone in her body. If it were another demon, a rage demon, perhaps, or despair. If it were powerful enough, it could force its way in. But not Vengeance.” 

“You sound really sure about that.” Iron Bull scanned the surrounding forest. Varania nodded, drawing to Fenris’s side. 

“I am certain.” She began firmly. “If it could have taken her, it may have, but it could not. I’ve seen Reyna forgive any slight. One could almost call it a fault of it’s own.” She finished wryly. 

A fault of its own, but it may have saved her. Fenris stared down into Varania’s calm eyes as she grasped his elbow firmly. “Reyna is alive and whole.” She repeated. “We will find her and your child. Promitto.” 

She looked tired too. Her eyes were bloodshot, deep shadows underneath it. There was blood spattered over her chest, her arms. There was a steely determination in her eyes. The same expression she’d worn in the fade when she had refused to leave him in the fade, when she had made the decision to face down the demon instead. 

He was dragging his sister into danger. The thought hit him with more force than he expected. And she would follow, willingly, without complaint. Without thought of what she could lose. “You should return to Skyhold.” He began. “Sabina should not wake up without her mother.” 

“Do not be stubborn.” Varania wrinkled her nose in distaste. “You have expended an immense amount of power. The Inquisitor can barely walk.” 

“Well, good thing we’re mounting up.” Maria’s snarky response would have made him smile, if the situation were not so dire. 

“Thom!” She called. “We will need the mounts, can you…?” 

His shouted affirmative was lost. Fenris reached out, catching her wrist. “Varania.” He whispered. 

“I will fight with you later.” She declared, pulling free and snatching the ring from Varric’s hand, depositing it in Fenris’s. “After. I must be here.” 

His lyrium lined fingers closed over the cold metal, cradling it in his hand. It was bizarre, he thought, that he had held so many hearts in his hands, always nearly scalding hot. He now felt as if he was holding his own, and it was so cold. 

 

They pressed hard. As fast as Lucia could go. Still, it was not fast enough. Even without Lucia, the trail was easy enough to pick through. A horse on a mad dash through the forest left clues, stones flung free from shod hooves, broken branches. Still, Fenris could not help the cursing that left his lips increasing in both volume and frequency. At one point, Thom had asked Varania if he even wanted to know what was coming out of Fenris’s mouth.

He strongly suspected Varania had pinched him in an effort to prevent him from asking something so foolish again. She probably would have elbowed the man if the armor wouldn’t have been in the way. Dorian had snorted.

And still, worry gnawed at Fenris. If Hawke was alive, Hawke would be fighting. And yet, there were no signs since the inferno of this. If Hawke wasn’t fighting, she was…

He could not finish that thought without falling into the abyss of despair. Either way, he would find her. He owed her that. After everything, that he owed her. 

But it was not the mages, nor Fenris himself, who noted that they had drawn close to their quarry. It was a grunt of pain from the Inquisitor herself. She had put on gloves to hide the mark, but even through them the pulsing light of her mark was visible. 

“Maria?” Varric whispered. 

“You know how Solas used to say things like the veil is thin here.” Her voice was tight, laced with pain, as her gray eyes flicked around. Her horse whinnied nervously, as if sensing her concern. “Well, the veil is certainly something here.” 

“Wobbly? Warbly? Wonky?” Varric questioned, amused.

“Spicy, maybe.” Iron Bull responded. 

“I’m sure Solas is very put out to be missing this right now. All we need is Sera and…” Rainier began. 

The pull of mana rippled across his marks and sent them from a dull throb into a sharp pain. The flash of mage fire in the distance was both almost a relief, even as it sped towards them. Not a second too soon, a barrier jumped into existence. 

“Trouble up front!” Bull yelled, swinging from the steed. Fenris hit the ground before him, charging forward. 

Both  warriors sprinted from the tree cover, only to pull up short. 

Varania had been right, the demon had taken another host. And she was...familiar. The mage that had refused to come with them at the College of Enchanters, he thought. Perhaps, he thought with a grim sense of deja vu, the box had been the artifact she had taken. But that was not what had pulled him to a stop.

The abomination itself, while once a woman, was now streaked with a darkness Fenris had never before seen. As if the vilest filth was writhing beneath her skin. Her very eyes were completely black, flames crackling from her fingertips. 

“Shit.” Varric said from behind him. “Is that… is that the blight? Can a demon get the blight?” 

“We never have uneventful days.” Thom replied mournfully.  

“Justice is long overdue, mortals…” The creature began, it’s voice harsh as knives as it spoke. “I see before me the most vile liars, grandiose hypocrites, the…” 

Before it could say anything more, a green feather arrow sailed past all of the warriors, over Cassandra’s shoulders, and imbedded itself in the mage’s chest. She looked down, as if in shock. 

“What are you doing?” Cassandra hissed. 

“I am so  _ tired _ of this rambling psychotic explanatory nonsense. The world is a terrible place, I’ll become a god and make it better, I must destroy every living creature, blah blah blah.” The Inquisitor defended. “Nobody wants to hear it anymore, we’re all done.” 

“I concur, honestly.” Dorian’s agreement sounded highly amused. The creature in front of them ripped the arrow from her chest. Half of it had disintegrated, even the metal tip. It dripped onto the ground, sizzling in the grass. The demon examined it with a sort of detached fascination and Fenris allowed himself to look beyond the creature. 

Behind the demon, still as stone, a woman lay in the grass. Her dark hair matted with dark red blood on one side, face pale. Even in unconsciousness, the woman’s arm rested protectively over her swollen abdomen. Fenris could not tell if she was breathing. 

“Hawke.” The name was pulled from him with a force he barely understood. A whisper, then a shout. “Hawke! Reyna!” 

She didn’t move, but the demon did. It smiled, black eyes amused. “Murderers. Thieves.” It chanted, raising its hand above the ground in front of them. 

The ground broke open, and a gnarled scaled hand broke through. From his right, he heard a sharp intake of breath.

“Darkspawn!” Rainier yelled. “Be ready!” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *promitto: I promise


	90. Blighted Demons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rescue party takes on vengeance. Hawke wasn't named Champion of Kirkwall for her looks.

_ Varania was seven the first time she learned about darkspawn. She was kneeling on the kitchen flagstones at the feet of one of the eldest slaves in the household, watching as he spun wool into yarn by feel alone, since his sight had been fading fast for years. Several other children were gathered around, listening with awe and fear on each small, pointed face. “Aye, right up to the walls of Minrathous during the first blight. The closest the city ever came to falling, the beasts would tear an elf in half, and those that didn’t… well, the blight takes everyone.”  _

_ His cloudy eyes had looked even more haunted after that. And Varania’s mind had been troubled by thoughts of monsters, conjured the way only a small child’s mind could. Vicious, evil things with horns and claws, things that could rip right through the walls she lived within and she was so very small, what chance would she have? _

_ Leto had a bandage wrapped around his upper arm when he finally appeared, late, and a nasty bruise as large as her hand over his eye. Still, she had wailed his name and ran to him. “What is it?” He asked quickly, his skinny arms gathering up. Varania could nearly hear her mother rolling her eyes behind her. _

_ “She’s been frightened by the old spinner’s tales and she’s being a silly as a goose.” Eleni muttered.  _

_ “The darkspawn will get us if they come.” Varania cried. Leto had laughed.  _

_ “The darkspawn are not coming. I promise.” He said seriously. “And if they do, I’ll protect you.” _

 

Varania could have lived her whole life without seeing darkspawn. Would have happily done so. She had thought herself, foolishly, immune to the childish fears of the darkness and blight. She had been mistaken. The icy terror gripped her for a moment, turned her into a child hugging her bony body to Leto’s for comfort. 

If it had not been for her brother now, she may have never found the strength of will to move forward. But she’d heard his voice break with grief on Reyna’s name, heard the raw desperation. She half expected the infuriating woman to jump up, laughing at her elaborate joke. It was disconcerting that she remained still, that her lips didn’t twitch in a ready smile. Varania tasted a new fear in her mouth, one more she was afraid she would have to carry the rest of her life. 

“Thom, I have to get to her.” Varania hadn’t realized she had begun moving, two unsteady steps, until Thom’s arm caught around her waist and dragged her back. She felt his shield against her skin, cutting against the thin cloth. Too thin, no protection from the claws and teeth, the swords and arrows climbing from the pit of hell. 

“Have you fought darkspawn?” He demanded. Varania shook her head in mute terror as more of the creatures continued to climb from the crack. An arrow flew over their heads, sunk into the skull of one of the creatures and sent it tumbling back from where it had come. 

“They don’t like fire.” Maria Cadash, still too pale, but somber as Varania had ever seen her and eyes burning fiercely. “Keep your mouth closed, breathe through your nose, and for the love of the Maker, don’t let them get you with their teeth or claws.” Another arrow, too quick for Varania’s eyes to track the quick, practiced movement of the Inquisitor’s arms. 

“Let her go, Rainier. Clear a path.” The Inquisitor ordered, because that is what she did. The consummate commander, calm and collected in the face of the worst terrors. 

And yet, for a moment, she thought Thom would balk at this command. A paralyzing moment where she watched Fenris, Cassandra, and the Iron Bull meet the darkspawn head on, their lips pressed closed tightly, Fenris’s white hair a stark flag. 

It had been black as Sabina’s once. In the heat of Minrathous’s summers, as a lad, he had shorn it close to his head until he’d gotten old enough to appreciate the lingering glances of the maids. She had laughed at his vanity, until she’d gotten old enough to love the way the sun bounced off her red hair. 

All Varania could hear was the blood rushing through her head, the clash of steel, the clear thud of one of the Inquisitor’s arrows landing in a raised shield. Then Thom’s arm around her waist loosened, and Varania was able to slip from his grip. She spared a glance over her shoulder as she darted forward. It was just long enough to confirm the man that had professed his love in her ear as he held her body to his was at her back, eyes furious and frightened, jaw tight and shield ready. 

 

She heard the Inquisitor demand an explanation from Dorian. Unfortunately, Varania didn’t hear Dorian’s reply. She could guess his answer would be rather similar to her educated guesses. Anders had been a warden, that she’d been able to pick up. The Wardens had the blight, somehow, although this part Varania was more fuzzy on. Anders had allowed himself to become possessed by a spirit, and somehow the spirit had caught the blight. Which allowed it to summon darkspawn, apparently.

She did hear Varric say something about a bad thing getting worse. At the very least, she knew if they died Varric would get the last word in. Except, Varania reminded herself as she dodged a Hurlock’s axe, she couldn’t die, because if she did who would make sure Sabina ate what was good for her, or handle the riotous curls each morning? 

And that was enough of a thought for fire to flicker in the spaces between her fingertips and climb the handle of her spirit blade before she plunged it into the cavity of a darkspawn’s chest. 

And even as her blade swung, always hitting another of the wretched creatures, she felt they had made no progress. She could see littered bodies of darkspawn, but she had lost sight of all but Thom at her back. She would not have known that anyone else was even fighting if not for the steady thunk of arrows and bolts that mowed down darkspawn as they appeared.

She pressed her back against Thom’s, casting a barrier to throw off the several darkspawn attempting to flank them. Her heart beat in her throat, a steady panicking thing. She could see nothing beyond the horde, was not even certain where Reyna or Fenris were. A sweep of her hand sent the scaly blighted creatures back, but more rose up to take their place. Thom’s sword slashed into one and she could smell the rotten smell of their blood, their bodies, all the unwashed and dirty things that lingered foul underground… 

There was a shout that carried across the din of battle, and Varania could never quite  be sure what it was. It suspiciously sounded something like ‘fuck it’, and the voice was almost certainly the Inquisitor’s. Then Varania felt… 

It was a song she had always known, but had forgotten until that moment. It was a blast of power that raised the thin pale hair on her arms. It was a reverberating note in her teeth, her bones, her very soul. It was as if she could feel the fade pouring through… something.  _ Someone _ . Varania’s first conscious thought was that channeling that much power through a person couldn’t possibly be healthy. 

Her second thought was one of triumph as the green lights flickered, sparked like chain lighting over the darkspawn, striking some down, scattering others. Varania summoned flames larger than any she had before dared and sent them spinning, reeling, free and falling, setting the darkspawn alight in a rampaging inferno as the green light flickered faster, harder… 

The darkspawn left were melting into green fire, even as she saw the great dual handed blade slash through three.

Fenris flowed forward like a river, a storm. Unstoppable, brutal. His markings flashed and illuminated the corpses on the ground, the altus with one arm supporting the massive qunari with blood gushing down his shoulder. Cassandra, missing her helmet, hair askew. Varric at the Inquisitor’s side, crossbow on the ground alongside her bow as she slumped backwards into his broad chest, mark sputtering like a candle in the wind. 

And in a flash of that blue, the greatsword cleaved into the abomination’s body, nearly halfway through. The metal hissed, as if the creature was made of acid, smoke pouring from its body.

Varania remembered the way the Inquisitor’s blade had appeared, melted down to the hilt, almost unrecognizable. And when Fenris pulled his blade out, she could see already that it was beginning to twist, blacken, the sharp edge melting away. 

The woman, or what used to be her, looked down at the gaping wound in her abdomen. Darkness like oil was pouring from it, through her spread fingers. Fenris dropped the useless blade on the ground as the creature took a staggering step forward, then reached for him. Her hand had changed to jagged claws, and her mouth had twisted into a blackened void with far too many teeth. It was as if the woman was falling away, a green and black demon emerging in her place as her body was shed like snakeskin. It had a great helmet on its head, but that was the only portion of it that was vaguely humanoid. And it’s clawed hand was lashing out almost in slow motion. 

“No!” Varania’s scream rent the air, had left her mouth without her even being aware it had as Fenris rolled away, just barely, from the grasping claws. But when Fenris looked back, it wasn’t to her. It was to Reyna’s still body laying not more than twenty paces away from the battlefield. 

“Hey ugly!” Varric shouted. It was followed by a bolt landing in the demon’s oozing flesh, directly in the back of that helmet that was not a helmet. More blackness oozed from the wound around it, the shaft of it falling to the ground almost immediately. Varania ripped her eyes to the dwarf, standing as tall as he could with the crossbow he called Bianca in his arms and the Inquisitor behind him. “Damn, I know they say justice is blind, but maybe they should give us the blindfold instead.” 

“Take care of Hawke.” Thom’s graveled voice was an order. “You’re the only one here who can.”

She was also the only one with a blade made of more than metal. Cassandra had taken advantage of the distraction to flank the creature, but when it’s claws came down across her shield, the blackness dripping from them began eating through it almost immediately. The woman ripped the shield from her arm and threw it down. She nearly lost her life for the pause, would have if Dorian hadn’t cast a barrier between the demon and the Seeker that took the next blow instead. 

And Thom was moving to throw himself at it while Fenris darted around the thing. It was growing larger, even as she watched. Rapidly approaching the size of the nearby trees.

When she was young, another child had stolen a pretty bit of cloth that Varania had snatched from the laundry. With all the passion of a ten year old, Varania had plotted her retribution until her mother had very firmly informed her that revenge would only bring more revenge. 

And now Varania could watch the demon of Vengeance grow larger, and think again about the massive appetite of the thing, that it was forever bloodthirsty, forever unfulfilled. 

“Switch me.” Varania ordered, tugging his blade from his gauntlet. It was heavy in her hand, the weight unfamiliar. Her own sword hilt buzzed in her other hand and she thrust it into his until he clutched it and her fingers fell away. The blade flickered for only an instant, before she pushed the mana back into it. Harder, now that it was no longer an extension of herself. 

“Will this actually work?” Thom asked, clutching the blade. 

“I do not know.” Varania admitted. But one of the Inquisitor’s arrows had flown into the demon’s arm, melting away in mere seconds. “But it is better than trying the same thing as everyone else.” 

With a firm nod, Thom readied his shield, and charged. Varania, against every instinct in her body, went the other way. 

She could feel the blade still, in her body, in her singing blood. And she could feel Thom the same way, all the ferocious bulk of him. And even as she fell to her knees beside Reyna, she couldn’t help but look over her shoulder and watch as Thom lunged into the demon, glowing blade sinking into flesh, cleaving like a hot knife through butter, ripping through one of the creatures arms and severing it. 

For the first time, it let out a howl of rage and agony. But Varania could not look over her shoulder, could not focus on the fury of battle behind her. Instead, she let her palm rest lightly over Reyna’s mouth, breathless with fear until she felt the warmth of her breath against her palm. She felt her shoulders sag in relief as she moved one hand up to the bloody temple, the other down to the swollen abdomen where she rested her hand gently over it. 

She’d been smashed alongside the head with something heavy. A staff? The skull was broken, but only cracked. It was easily healed, the swelling treated. There was also a lingering spell laced over her, a sleeping one she thought. If she could undo the threads of magic, it would release it’s hold and Reyna would wake, but the baby… 

Varania felt a kick against her palm and nearly choked on the relieved laughter. “Tu pertinax, parum est.” Varania whispered hoarsely, unable to hide the tremor of pride as she quickly got to work. The babe seemed fine. Impatient, perhaps, but fine. Reyna’s skull mended under her quick fingers, coming together seamlessly, then it was only a matter of beginning to unravel the sleeping spell… 

She had only snapped through half of it when she heard another roar of agony and dared to stop and look up. Somehow, although how she was uncertain, her sword had been obtained by Fenris. She had a moment to think that it looked much like the wooden swords he’d used in his youth in his hand before he thrust it into the creature’s chest, where a heart would be in any human. It doubled forward, even as the shimmering magic blade withdrew. When Fenris raised it again for the killing stroke, the beast dashed forward. Not for any of the assembled warriors, but for her and Reyna.

Perhaps, Varania thought, it had realized that without her magic fueling the blade the assembled group would be helpless. Perhaps it simply thought to finish what it had started by abducting Reyna. Either way, it was moving too quickly for the assembled warriors to stop, even if their blades were of any use. Even with the two archers harrying it, even with Dorian sending a bolt of lighting through the air into it, which caused it to roar again but move even faster. 

Varania picked up Thom’s sword and held it out, a barrier springing to life around both her and Reyna as the creature slammed into it. Inky blackness slithered across the shimmering magic as it clawed and writhed. Varania could feel it like an illness through the magic. As sneaky and dirty as a rat. 

“Varania?” 

Reyna’s voice was hoarse, but distinct. The woman had shrugged off the rest of the sleep spell herself and was sitting up on the ground, staring at the creature through the barrier with a look of utter revulsion. “What in Andraste’s sweet ass is that?” She asked. 

“Vengeance, the first darkspawn demon it seems.” Varania answered through gritted teeth. She could hear the others, although she couldn’t see them. She could imagine them racing to their side, could imagine…

“Oh.” Reyna said softly, forcing herself to her feet. Her hand touched the side of her head, to the dried and sticky blood at her temple, the other hand drifting to her stomach. Then, her blazing blue eyes lifted to the creature outside the barrier in challenge. 

“When I say the word, let it go.” Reyna commanded, summoning a ball of fire into her one palm. “Can you?” 

“It is your funeral, I suppose.” Varania retorted. In the warbly reflection of the barrier, Varania could see Reyna’s wide grin. 

She defeated the Arishok with fire, Varric had said so. When she had been without a staff, without any defenses, sliding down a great sword nearly as wide as her waist, she had reached forward with one palm full of flames and seized the qunari’s face. It had been enough to turn the tide, to win her the day, to save her life. 

Fenris carried her from the Viscount’s throne room. Varania could just nearly picture it, Reyna half-dead, Fenris half-mad with grief. If she had left Tevinter (and actually made it out, which would always be the question they could never answer), she would have arrived in Kirkwall for the whole sorry disaster. She would know for certain if Reyna had made awful jokes on her deathbed, instead of simply guessing. She would, possibly, not be surprised by the way Reyna’s fire flared up. 

Varania had to admit, the flames filling up the barrier were beautiful in their way. And they were so much like Reyna, quick and bright, a tornado of energy and a whirlwind of noise. She had not seen the woman actually fight before, not truly. A scuffle at a tent in the desert, but that was it. This… this was a thing of awe. 

Reyna pulled her free hand to the back of Varania’s shirt, and yelled out “Now!”

With a tremble, the barrier fell and the beast lingering above it lunged forward, only to be forced back by an explosion of flame. And Hawke pulled Varania back against her, twisting them both to the side as the flames spread above them. 

She sensed her own blade before it slashed down at the beast, cutting the great helmet from the demon, even as the flames ate away at the rest of it, great flecks of ash flying up and into the sky. The head itself dissolved into the flickering green light of the fade, vanishing into the air. 

And standing before them, covered in ash and the muck of darkspawn, so filthy that only parts of his white hair was visible, stood Fenris, the glow from the lyrium scars fading as he looked at the two of them. 

“Reyna?” He asked hoarsely, taking a step forward. The hilt of Varania’s blade fell from his fingers and onto the ground. She would need a new one, it appeared. Splatters of… whatever the demon had been made of had eaten away at substantial portions of it.  

“Someone hit me.” Reyna complained, pointing to her temple. “A sucker punch, as it was.”  

Varania did not miss the shine of tears in Fenris’s eyes, even as his voice came out both level 

and dry. “Your powers of observation, as always, amaze me.” 

“Dare I ask what even happened?” Reyna asked, looking around. Dorian was fussing over the Iron Bull, cursing creatively as he cauterized the bleeding gash on the man’s arm. The Inquisitor and Cassandra were both standing and leaning on each other, although it was hard to tell who was doing more of the work supporting the duo. Varric had his crossbow in one hand, the Inquisitor’s bow in the other, but it was Thom she was looking for, Thom she was glad to see nursing what looked like a broken nose, but nothing more. 

“We had a visitor. An uninvited one.” Thom’s voice was rougher than usual and Varania nearly laughed to see him holding his nose. She reached up, gently. 

“Here, allow me.” She pressed. 

“You frightened me.” Fenris accused, reaching out with his gauntleted fingers to draw one of Reyna’s elegant hands into his. “Do not do it again.” 

“I’m sorry.” Reyna apologized sheepishly. “I didn’t mean to this time, swear on Andraste herself.” 

“Waffles, to summarize it most efficiently.” Varric began to drawl. “You got kidnapped. Varania almost got murdered. Fenris and Maria got trapped in the fade and had to be rescued…” 

“Rescued?” Maria repeated, aghast. “I think, when it came down to it, Fenris and I rescued ourselves. It hurt like a son of a...” 

“Then, when we found you.” Varric continued, shooting Maria an annoyed look. “We discovered that demons can get the blight and the two things are… exactly as awful as one would think.”

“I only have one question.” Reyna began, holding one finger in the air and fixing her eyes on Varania and Thom. Varania looked up, directly into Thom’s face with an apologetic expression as Reyna asked, “Did she wear the blue dress?” 

Fenris’s eyebrows just about rose off his head and Varania felt the color burn to the tips of her ears as Cassandra made a disgusted sounding noise. She turned back to the woman who was grinning impishly. “I am putting you back to sleep.” Varania threatened. 

Varric smirked. “Waffles, it was glorious. Nothing like a call to arms coming from a man who didn’t even have time to do up his breeches properly. And his hair… Well, there was certainly some electricity happening if you catch my…” 

“Maker’s balls.” Thom swore, ducking his head. 

“I always miss the best part.” Maria said forlornly. 

Fenris was glaring over Varania’s head, up at Thom, and Varania wasn’t quite certain whether to laugh or cry. Reyna was laughing. Then she gasped, one hand going to her side as she winced. “Oh. Oh no.” She muttered darkly. 

“What? What is it?” Fenris reached forward and gripped Reyna’s shoulder. 

“Well, I think I just pissed myself to be completely honest.” Reyna’s voice was nonchalant, but the woman was rubbing her abdomen nervously and eying Varania. “Please tell me that’s normal for being this pregnant.” 

Varania sniffed. “It is normal when you go into labor. And I hope you have to give birth to that baby for a day, at least.” 

“I’m sorry, what?” Dorian’s voice had gone unnervingly shrill. “She can’t go into labor. We’re miles from Skyhold.”

“From my experience, babies don’t typically wait for ideal times.” Varania announced. “We need to get away from this tainted place. A stream, or…” 

“Half a mile or so to the east. We passed it.” Cassandra looked to the trees, where the horses had broken free of their tethers and vanished. “Do you think she will make it back to Skyhold?” 

“It’s Hawke.” The Inquisitor pointed out reasonably. “Of course she isn’t going to make it back to Skyhold.” 

 

Fenris nearly had to carry Reyna to the stream. Once it was found, the Inquisitor dispatched both Dorian and the Iron Bull to make their way back to the nearest Inquisition scouting post and request both a wagon and mounts. Both men seemed more than happy to vanish. The stream was more a river, thanks she thought to the snow melt. More than adequate as she had plunged her hands into it. Then, much to the chagrin of both Fenris and Thom, she had slipped her shirt over her head with her back to the shore.

“Quid agis?” Fenris demanded, prying his fingers from Reyna’s grip and glaring at her back. 

“I am covered in darkspawn blood. So are all of you except Reyna and the dwarves. We must clean up.” She reasoned. “Unless you wish to risk the blight.” 

She could feel Fenris glaring at the back of her head. She could also feel a rather more enjoyable heated stare from Thom. 

“Perhaps there is a more secluded place to wash up.” Fenris said tersely. Reyna laughed again, cheerful as a jumble of bells. 

“There are more women here than men. You two should find somewhere more secluded to wash.” Varania reasoned, splashing water that was icy cold up on her face. With a grumbled conversation, which finally ended with Reyna exclaiming that Fenris was hovering like her mother used to, Fenris stalked further down the river. Thom coughed and Varania turned her head over her shoulder to catch his eyes. He had stripped his breastplate and padding from his chest and had yanked off the thin linen undershirt, which he was gently draping over a bush. “Your shirt will be a loss, my lady.” He said gallantly. 

“Thank you.” Varania tried to ignore the blush over her cheekbones. It was hard to do with Reyna cackling in delight. 

“You never offer me the shirt off your back.” The Inquisitor pouted, sitting down on Reyna’s right while Varric took a place on her left. 

“You wouldn’t be able to do up the buttons anyway.” Varric grinned. 

“There are actually buttons on your shirts?” Reyna asked, then gasped slightly as another contraction hit. 

Beside her, wading into the stream, Cassandra rolled her eyes and sent a muttered prayer to the Maker for patience. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *tu pertinax, parum est: You are stubborn, little one.
> 
> *quid agis: What are you doing?


	91. Fledgling Hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A baby is born. A sentence is handed down.

Varric couldn’t say he was particularly shocked that Hawke went into labor miles from civilization after lighting a demon on fire. Honestly, it wasn’t something he’d have ever guessed would happen, but now that it had it wasn’t surprising at all. When Varric had asked exactly how long it took babies to be born, the look Varania had shot him could have singed his chest hair and Maria hadn’t been able to hide her laughter. 

Varric, rather kindly he thought, didn’t point out that the effect of Varania’s glare was dampened by the shoulder of Hero’s shirt sliding over her own shoulder, despite the fact she’d laced it as tightly as she could at the neck. She looked like her daughter, minus the wild curls, trying on a grown up’s shirt. It was sort of adorable. Varric wouldn’t risk his neck saying so, of course, but it was. 

“From what I have heard, babies come as they please when they please.” Cassandra answered dryly. “I was born in a carriage somewhere between Cumberland and Val Chevin.” 

“Nice.” Maria grinned up at Cassandra. “Right on the floor?”

“So my brother claimed.” Cassandra smiled, shook her head. 

“You should tell Sera. She’d love it.” Maria advised. “At least you’ll have something in common with this little terror.” 

Maria had swept her hand over Hawke, who had collapsed again after her pacing on the grass with several muttered curses. Fenris was holding one of her hands, looking increasingly more green around the edges. 

“Isn’t there anything you can do to speed this process up?” Hawke snapped toward a rather serene looking Varania. 

“No, and if I could, I would not. I am still holding out hope that you can last until we make it back to Skyhold.” She responded calmly, although Varric thought he saw her eyes flick skyward in a silent prayer for patience. 

Hawke grunted, seized by another one of the ripping spasms. He saw her nails dig into Fenris’s wrist, but if the elf noticed, he said nothing. Instead, he brought her trembling fingers to his lips and said something softly that made Hawke smile. 

“Well, yes, it is your fault.” Hawke drawled with a huff. “Thank you for admitting it.” 

“Didn’t you get stabbed by the Arishok?” Maria asked, tipping her head to the side with a quick grin as she reached her hand up and pushed her red hair back from her face. She did so with the palm where the anchor glowed, she hadn’t bothered to put her gloves back on. Varric suspected that she couldn’t stand the rubbing against the red skin surrounding the pulsing magic. 

It had gotten larger, and he’d already decided they were most certainly going to have a very long and thorough discussion about how she should never,  _ ever _ use it again. He didn’t want to think about what the thing would look like with green tendrils wrapped the whole way up her shoulder. 

What he couldn’t stop thinking about, honestly, was one word.  _ Sunshine _ . 

“Varric?” Maria asked. He’d lost track of the conversation, somehow, while staring at Maria pensively. “You still with us, Tethras? You’re not going to faint?” 

Hawke laughed although it definitely sounded choked. Varania had crept closer and had shoved up the skirt Hawke was wearing very nearly indecently. 

“He’s brooding.” Fenris said quietly. This made Hawke laugh even harder, her free hand pressed against her abdomen.

“Too much time with you, then.” Hawke reasoned with a bright grin.

“Do you remember anything? From the fade?” Varric finally gambled to ask the question. Maria frowned thoughtfully, scanning the trees around them. 

“Nothing that makes any sense, really. Not until I saw you. Colors and shapes, sounds.” She admitted, then paused as if unsure whether or not to continue. “I remember a wolf, black with red eyes. And hundreds of mirrors. That’s the only thing I remember clearly, but that’s less than helpful.”

“Whatever you were on in the fade.” Hawke huffed. “I want some.” 

“What did you see?” Maria pressed, turning towards him. Teasingly close, her leather armor long since discarded and wiped clean, drying next to Cassandra’s and his. “Was it naughty? I bet it was.”

He was saved by the reappearance of Rainier, with Hawke and Fenris’s dog loping beside him, soaking wet. “Your dog appears to be smart enough to avoid the blight. Heard there was one that survived Ostagar that was smart enough as well. Traveled around with the Hero of Ferelden.” 

“Lucia is a descendent.” Fenris responded immediately. “Reyna, are you…” 

Hawke let out a short shout, bit off in the middle. Fenris sent a look that was pleading down towards his sister, but Varania had already begun to rather efficiently fold the layers of Hawke’s skirt back. 

“It appears you will be done with this sooner rather than later.” Varania soothed, spreading Hawke’s legs gently and kneeling between them. 

“Joy.” Hawke muttered, collapsing down on the ground. “Who’s winning the bet, Varric? It appears that my little bundle of joy doesn’t care if her mama loses some sovereigns.” 

Cassandra had the good grace to stare at the ground, abashed. Hawke snorted. “Really seeker? You’re winning?”

“A substantial amount, if Varric is to be believed.” Cassandra answered. “I may be able to pay my gambling debts to the Inquisitor.” 

“Damn unlikely.” Maria grinned, kneeling on the ground outside of Hawke’s spread legs and looking up into Varania’s face. “What do you need?” 

“Nothing that is available.” Varania muttered darkly. “Elfroot, even in its raw form, to prevent infection. A blanket. Warm water.” 

“We can use a helmet to hold some water, can’t we?” Maria asked, looking up at Rainier, who had his eyes glued to the grass. Even despite this, Varric had noticed they’d darted often to Varania, following the point of her ear, down the rather graceful slope of her neck, over the exposed shoulder in his tunic. “Surely, you and Cass can get a fire going.” 

Even as she spoke, Maria was slingling her pouch free of her hip, rooting around in it, before pulling out a fistful of smooshed leaves. “Sorry.” She said apologetic, ignoring Varania’s bemused expression. “I just kind of shove them in here when I find them.”

“Why?” Varania asked. Varric snorted in amusement. 

“Never know when you’ll need elfroot.” Maria chimed brightly. “I’ve got some whiskey here too, for Fenris’s nerves.” 

Varric had settled himself beside Hawke, gripping her other hand tightly in his. “Almost over, Waffles. Next thing you know, we’ll have a…” 

He had glanced back at Maria, lost his train of thought. He hadn’t realized she’d also been undoing her own tunic, shrugging it off carelessly, pulling it from her breeches. Exposing that pale and freckled skin, mired with bruises after today. The infernal bodice that started just above her navel and contained her breasts. “I know it  isn’t a blanket, but it’s clean and soft.” 

“Varric.” Hawke groaned. “This is the least sexy thing I’ve ever done, so for my sake could you stop ogling the Inquisitor.” 

Maria smiled roguishly over her shoulder and Varric grinned back. “No promises, Hawke.” 

“I am going to need that whiskey.” Fenris demanded. 

“Me first.” Hawke protested. “And if this winds up in one of Varric’s books, I’m killing him. I swear.” 

 

When Cullen finally arrived with the cart, he had nowhere safe to point his gaze. Staring down meant he was almost certainly looking down to the breasts nearly spilling from Maria’s bodice. Straight ahead meant he was staring at Hawke’s pale legs and the slipping tunic  off of Varania’s shoulder. So, the poor man was forced to stare up at the sky, red splotching the whole way down his throat as Maria crossed her arms and glared up at him. “Seriously, Cullen. You didn’t think to bring any other supplies.” 

“I… Dorian said no one was injured, but that the Champion…” Cullen sputtered.

“Stop. Fucking. Calling. Me. That.” Hawke growled. Fenris punctuated her growl with a rather stiff glare. 

“Is having a baby, Cullen. Blankets, snacks,  _ anything _ would have been useful. Where is Josie when I need her?” Maria asked 

“I am sorry. I am not… familiar with these things.” Cullen apologized. Varric nearly told him that he was never going to get familiar by continuing to stare up at the sky, but at that moment, Hawke crushed his hand again and Varric winced. Cassandra, who was standing above them, looked entirely too pleased by this development. 

“Varania, I want it out.” Hawke panted. “Now. I don’t care if you need to cut it out.” 

“No.” Varania said simply. And it was a credit to the bond that had shot up between them that Hawke didn’t immediately light her on fire. 

“Varania, she is in pain.” Fenris pleaded helplessly. 

“Of course she is. She’s having a damn baby. If it was fun, we’d have more of them.” Varania muttered. 

“We can get her into the cart.” Cullen offered grimly. 

“No.” Everyone answered at once. Varania said something, softly under her breath in Tevene, scooting closer to Hawke’s body. 

“It is time. Are you ready?” Varania asked, resting her thin fingered hands on Hawke’s knees. 

“My mother should be here. And Bethany.” Hawke had said it in a rush of emotion, a surge of tears. Her head dropped back in defeat. “I can’t. We can’t, everyone… my whole family is gone.” 

Varric felt something in his heart lurch. 

“I’m here, amata.” Fenris whispered. “I am by your side, always.” 

“Reyna.” Varania called, leaning forward until her forehead touched Hawke’s, bright green eyes meeting blue ones. “You will do fine.” Varania whispered. 

Hawke swallowed, eyes closing. When they opened again, her grip tightened on Varric’s hand. “Right. Let’s do this then.” Hawke gasped. Varania flowed back down, settling herself, Maria’s tunic nearby. 

“Push.” Varania ordered. 

 

Maria held Hawke’s leg as the woman surged forward one final time. Varric honestly felt like they’d been in battle for hours, and in the eerie moment of calm after the final push, it was like waiting for the last blow. He’d seen Varania’s brow wrinkle in what he prayed wasn’t distress as Hawke collapsed backward. 

A moment of perfect stillness, forever captured in his memory. Hawke, falling back in defeat, her grip on his hand finally loosening. Fenris, craning forward in fear. Cassandra looking down at the top of Hawke’s head. The dog barking, Thom from further away shushing it. Maria’s hand splayed on Hawke’s thigh, looking down toward whatever Varania had in her hands. 

Then a sharp, piercing cry rang through the clearing, echoed off the mountains in the back. Maria’s face broke into a grin as bright as the sun above them. Tears came to Varania’s eyes, unbidden, and Varric felt them in his own too. Hawke moved her freed hand over her mouth, hiding a breathless sob. 

Varania’s emerald eyes were luminous when she looked up, meeting the frozen expression on Fenris’s face. She said something in Tevene, only one word. “Filius.” She whispered, her gaze torn back down to the crying, squealing creature still hidden from view. 

“What?” Hawke asked, choked. Her face was red, swollen, but her eyes had latched onto Fenris. “What…”

“A son.” Fenris repeated breathlessly. And the frozen expression on Fenris’s face was melting into something like amazement as Varania very gently lifted the squealing child, already wrapped in Maria’s shirt, from between Hawke’s legs. 

“Leto, et perfecta.” Varania whispered, unaware of her own slip, smiling down at the baby in her arms with something fierce and beautiful in her face. She looked up, slowly extending her arms to Fenris. 

For a moment, Varric thought Fenris may bolt. Instead, bravely, he lifted his arms toward the baby. Carefully, Varania tucked the child in Fenris’s awkward arms, even as the baby screamed and flailed tiny, perfectly formed fists. 

“You did good, Hawke.” Varric could barely speak through the tears in his throat. “You made a nice little fledgling.” 

“A traitor.” Hawke laughed, reaching a shaking finger up to stroke the tiny, soft cheek of the baby blinking emerald eyes up at Fenris as if he was just as shell shocked as his father. “You were supposed to win mama some gold  _ and  _ be a girl.” 

“I do not believe I need any more unmanageable women in my life.” Fenris leaned back, bringing the baby closer to Hawke’s face until her own blue eyes were staring into the jewel bright eyes of the child. 

“Are all newborns so… wrinkly?” Cassandra asked. Fenris tucked the small creature closer to himself defensively. 

“He is perfect.” Fenris watched as Hawke’s clever fingers climbed over the little face in wander, over ears that were so ever slightly pointed, to the dark hair plastered against his tiny skull.

“Elias.” Hawke breathed softly as the child’s cries quieted. “Elias Malcolm Hawke, welcome to the world.” 

Fenris turned his enraptured gaze from his son down to Hawke, his smile both fragile and shining with hope. “Thank you.” Fenris whispered. “Thank you, Reyna, amata. For this. For… for everything.” 

And like that, in a spring breeze, on a mountainside, with most of them in various states of undress, Varric felt the last of Fenris’s shadows finally fall away.

 

Unfortunately, there was still one shadow left. The morning after they’d all straggled back to Skyhold with a newborn, Maria was perched on her iron throne while Josephine fluttered nearby. Hawke and Fenris were tucked up in their room, but Varania was standing next to him, Thom on her left and Sabina clinging to his neck as they watched Anders stand before Maria’s throne. When Varric had asked why in the Maker’s ass they’d brought Sabina, Varania had only pressed her lips together thinly, but Sabina had answered in her body language, ducking her small head into Thom’s shoulder nervously. 

The girl was frightened, of Anders. And Varric, at this point in time, couldn’t fucking blame her. He was the reason they’d been forced into hiding in Tevinter, had stalked them to Skyhold. If it helped the kid to see Anders with manacles on his wrists, well, so be it. 

But Varric knew Anders had kept honey candies in his clinic for the kids in Darktown when they were sick, frightened, destitute. And it was hard to reconcile the two things, to hold them both up in the light.

Maria wore her hair down, a rare thing. Varric knew it was to hide the bruises on her neck. That made him want to kill the man himself.    
Josephine had finally finished reading off the list of crimes, casting a confident look at Maria. “Of course, I didn’t mention that he attempted to assassinate you in your own castle.” 

“Honestly, easily the most forgivable thing.” Maria muttered, spinning a strand of her red hair around her fingers. “This is typically where someone says  _ something _ in their defense, Anders.” 

Maria was examining the strand of hair wrapped around her finger, very purposely not looking at the man in front of her. And Varric, frankly, couldn’t blame her. Anders looked like a starved kitten that’d been out in the rain for days. His skinny shoulders were hunched forward, although his hair was certainly less dirty and matted, it still hung limply over his face. 

“Would you believe me if I said it was an accident?” Anders asked lightly. “I assure you, this was most certainly where I didn’t plan to be.”

“An accident he got caught, my lady Herald.” Sebastian growled from his place at the front of the crowd. Anders rolled his eyes skyward in a rather exaggerated, long suffering way. Varric almost found it in himself to laugh. 

Maria had stopped spinning the piece of hair around her finger, pinning Anders with her steely eyes instead. And Anders wilted under her gaze, ducking his head back down rather than meet them. “The mages I have here, some of them knew you. When you were young.” Maria said softly, the hall quieting to hang on her every word. “I spoke to them.” 

“The templars would have given you a better story if you were looking to execute me.” Anders said darkly. Maria ignored him, tipping her head to the side consideringly.

“They said you should have known the risks of fusing with a spirit. That doing so anyway was a reckless, impulsive, and frankly stupid thing to do.” Maria mused. “Is that true? Did you know that?” 

“Yes.” Anders answer was clear, hollow, but loud enough to be heard visibly. And it caused Maria’s shoulders to slump slightly. And suddenly, he knew Anders last chance had gone. If he  _ hadn’t _ known, there had been a golden opportunity. The mage may never be free again, but if he had acted in ignorance… 

But no, Anders had known. And Maria, who hated executions, had no choice. Her eyes flicked past Anders for a moment, pinning Varric in the crowd for only a second. As if asking for permission. Perhaps forgiveness. 

And Varric knew he could stop her. If he shook his head no, she would risk anything to save a man Varric had considered a friend. And dammit, for a moment, Varric considered doing so. Asking her to sentence him to clean up every piece of rubble in Kirkwall for the rest of his life instead. Asking him to take a punch from every family he’d torn asunder. 

But Varric simply smiled sadly back at her, a gesture he hoped conveyed… acceptance. Peace. Varric wasn’t sure he actually felt either of those things. Wasn’t sure he ever would. 

“You shouldn’t execute him.” 

The interruption had come from the other side of the room, opposite Sebastian Vael. Alistair Theirin had his arms crossed over his chest, staring at the back of the blonde head. Maria swung her bright eyes to him in shock, raising an eyebrow, but inclinining her head to the King to continue speaking. 

“He’s a warden.” Alistair stepped forward confidently. “A poor excuse for one, certainly. But he has a use, perhaps his life can save thousands. This man has been stripped of his relationship with the blight, somehow. This condition gives wardens their power, their strength, but it is fatal. The blight kills most within weeks, but wardens live with it for years. Figuring out how he was rid of the taint could save hundreds of wardens and thousands of civilians the next time a blight occurs.” 

“You’re forgetting to mention it would save yourself.” Maria pointed out shrewdly. Alistair grinned, boyish and charming.

“Guilty.” He admitted carelessly. “I have to admit, I wasn’t looking forward to going mad and pushing into the deep roads. For both personal and political reasons. Ferelden isn’t strong enough to decide on a new ruler so soon.” 

“This man has already murdered thousands.” Sebastian argued, taking an impassioned step forward. “If his crime is stupidity, then so be it, but he  _ is  _ responsible for what has occured.” 

“Sorry, can I ask why he’s here?” Anders asked, annoyed. “If I’m going to die, I could do so without the sermon.” 

Before Maria could answer, Sebastian had wheeled to stare at Anders with fury on every line of his face. “The mother of my child was  _ murdered _ .” He spat. “And if you were not responsible for Flora’s murder directly, her blood is still on her hands because you ordered it.” 

All the blood drained from Anders face. His face turned to the Inquisitor, as if for confirmation, but she was resting her concerned gaze on Sebastian. “Prince Vael, I hear you.” Maria said gently, kindly. “I know what you have gone through… nothing can make that better.” 

“I ask only for justice, Inquisitor.” Sebastian said sincerely. 

“Isn’t that what started this whole debacle?” Alistair asked calmly. “Haven’t we seen how thin the line between justice and vengeance is? Should we not exercise mercy, your piousness?” 

“If you were in my shoes, would you not wish…” Sebastian began, arguing over Anders’s motionless head. Varric saw Maria slump backwards into her throne, throwing a desperate look at Josephine. 

“Perhaps, boys, you two should let the Inquisitor and I handle the details.” 

Hawke’s voice carried over the crowd, caused it to split down the middle. Swearing, Varric pushed a nobleman out of his way, stumbling into the neat little aisle that Hawke was sweeping up. 

“Of course she is not  resting.” He heard Varania mutter darkly from behind him. It seemed her sentiment was echoed by Fenris, his face like thunder as he trailed helplessly in Hawke’s wake. He suspected that if he had not been holding the precious bundle of blankets with only a glimpse of downy dark hair visible, Fenris would have stopped this far before Hawke had made it into the great hall. 

“Hawke…” Fenris’s tone was a warning, gravely and low. She ignored him, slipping even closer to Anders, stopping just behind him, her blue eyes level with Maria’s. From beside him, Varric felt crowd part. One noble had the gall to complain about receiving an elbow in the side as Varania appeared, her arms out. 

“Give him here.” She whispered. Fenris said nothing more, slipping the baby into his sister’s arms as quickly as possible. Varania hummed a note as she brought the small thing up to her chest, eyes wary as Fenris dashed forward, grabbing Hawke’s elbow. 

“I made a stupid mistake as well.” Hawke claimed, a bitter smile on her pretty pointed features. “And I would like the opportunity to correct it.” 

The crowd gasped in unison and Varric felt his heart climb dangerously into his throat. Anders turned slowly, his amber eyes meeting Hawke’s, darting to Fenris behind her, then into the cleared aisle where Varric and Varania stood, a small complaining cry coming from the small bundle up on Varania’s shoulder as she turned as if to shield it from Ander’s gaze. 

“I am sorry, Hawke.” Anders said softly. Hawke didn’t look at him, was continuing to stare up at Maria, but her lip trembled dangerously for only a moment. 

“Hawke…” Maria began, stopped, struggling to find something to say, anything. 

“Let me fix it.” Hawke pleaded, taking another step forward until she was nearly shoulder to shoulder with Anders, still refusing to look at him. 

“Maria.” Hawke’s voice was pitched low now, almost inaudible. But the sound of her name sent a tremor that was barely concealed through the Inquisitor. “Maria, listen. I don’t know if my family will  _ ever _ be safe with him free. He…” 

“You don’t have to do this, Hawke.” Maria had slipped from her throne, standing now, one hand still on the arm rest, the other rising as if to grip Hawke. 

“I will do it.” Fenris spoke through gritted teeth. “If you need to be certain it is done, I will do it.” 

“No.” Hawke said quickly, one hand going to her elbow to cover Fenris’s fingers with her own. And Hawke, slowly, turned to look at Anders. Her voice caught as she stared at him. “I should have done it. It was my choice, then. I choose wrong, I need to do this now.” 

“Hawke, please.” Anders whispered. A tear ran down Hawke’s cheek, quickly and impatiently brushed aside. 

“I’m sorry, Anders. I have to choose.” Hawke whispered back. “And I choose them. They have to be safe. They  _ have to be. _ ” 

Hawke took another step forward, freeing herself from Fenris’s grip, leaving Anders behind. Her large blue eyes were shining as they met Maria’s. And Maria sighed, sitting back down on the edge of her throne. Her voice was hoarse as she spoke. 

“Anders, formerly of the Grey Wardens and the Ferelden Circle of Magi.” Maria began, pausing for a moment before continuing. “In the name of the Inquisition, I sentence you to death for the crimes committed while you were willingly possessed by the demon of Vengeance. The sentence will be carried out by the Champion of Kirkwall, or if she changes her mind, one of the Inquisition soldiers. The execution will take place tomorrow morning at first light. Use the rest of your time in this world to prepare yourself.” 

Thank Andraste that the Inquisition soldiers and Josephine were so damn efficient. Within seconds, Anders had been led away and the crowd was being skillfully dispersed. Hawke had turned back, blindly, arms out. Varania handed her the little fledgling as Hawke tucked him close to her body, her eyes closing tight as she pressed her nose to his head, her hand stroking up and down the baby’s back. 

“That may have been a mistake, your worship.” Alistair said brightly, turning to nod to Sebastian Vael, before vanishing in the rest of the crowd. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *filius: a son  
> *et perfecta: He is perfect.


	92. Sharpen Your Knife

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke waits for a difficult moment. Fenris falls in love with his son. Maria makes an enemy.

__ If the Heavens ever did speak  
__ She is the last true mouthpiece  
__ Every Sunday's getting more bleak  
_ A fresh poison each week  
_ __ "We were born sick", you heard them say it.

 

His son was more perfect than anything Fenris had ever beheld. Small, much smaller than Fenris had thought he would be. Varania had assured them though that the baby was a good size, and he certainly seemed formed flawlessly. Skin that was very nearly the same shade as his own, unmarred by lyrium and blood magic and softer than any of the silks or satins in the Imperium. 

His favorite feature, if he had to choose, was the tuft of unruly dark hair crowning his son’s head. Hawke had laughed when he said so, crooning over the child’s moss green eyes that she said matched his own. But nothing  was more reassuring than the sum of all his parts, warm and so very alive in his arms. Innocent, fragile, and  _ his _ , completely and utterly his son. 

The feeling of that statement alone gutted Fenris, left him reeling with emotions too complex to name or categorize. His son, given to him by his wife. He was this precious, tiny thing’s father. Fenris would teach him everything he knew. How to hold a blade, write his letters, play cards, train a mabari. There were so many other things Fenris did not know, but would learn.

Elias. Although, much to his chagrin, he had already garnered a rather varied assortment of nicknames. Hawke called him Eli, crooned his name to him as he suckled at her breast. The Inquisitor and Varric, laughingly, had continued to call him fledgling in supposed protest that their names had been discounted. The Iron Bull had peered down at the little face and instantly declared him a “little champ” and asked when he’d be in the sparring ring. Sabina had declared him  _ her _ baby and insisted on simply calling him baby as she leaned on his cradle and settled one of her wooden soldiers next to her cousin. 

Elias had begun to fuss and Fenris, always more a light sleeper than Hawke, had woken nearly instantly. Which is how Fenris found himself at the window in their chamber, cradling him and looking up into the fading stars. Daylight was fast approaching, and that meant…

Hawke had barely slept, even when Elias had been quiet. She’d held him tight through his sleep, tucked securely against her until Fenris was sure her arms ached. She had been nodding off before she’d finally relinquished Elias with a rather tearful kiss on his forehead. 

Now, he thought looking at the sky, she would be awakened soon regardless. Elias was hungry, and there was precious little Fenris could do for that. And once she was awake, thoughts of what she had promised herself to do would haunt her. 

Hawke kept her promises, it had always been the thing he knew most easily about her. He had known it on some level that first night in the Alienage. Now… she had promised herself that she would pay any cost to see Fenris and their son free of fear. 

Fenris wished she hadn’t. Had told her that this was madness. Anders would die, it was almost a foregone certainty. Despite the Inquisitor’s soft heart and morally ambivalent scruples, the man had to die. There were few other options, and some were far more cruel than simple death. Nobody had said the word “tranquil,” but Hawke had thought it. Fenris had seen that flash on her face the moment she had found out Anders lived despite the death of the demon that had inhabited him. 

Hawke said it was her chance to make it right. Perhaps it was, but Fenris knew she would live with the final moments of Anders pathetic existence the rest of her life. If she was doing it for them, for her family, there was no need. Fenris knew where Hawke’s heart lay. 

She said she needed to be sure, her blue eyes shining with tears and desperate, heart wrenching fear. 

_ “I nearly lost you. Could have lost Eli.” Hawke whispered in the great hall, so quietly that none but him could hear her. “I need to be sure. I have to know he can’t come back for you.”  _

Anders had made it a choice between the two of them, had forced it. Hawke had chosen, the same way she had chosen when Anders had forced a choice on the steps of the chantry. Hawke had determined it would be the last choice he would force her into.

And yet, Fenris felt a strange and uneasy sense of melancholy. He did not know what he was mourning, it was certainly not Anders. Perhaps, Fenris thought as his son began to cry in his arms, Fenris was simply mourning their shared past.

“Fenris?” Hawke asked wearily from their bed. Fenris turned immediately toward her voice, hushing the baby as he approached. 

“I apologize. We did not mean to wake you.” Fenris began. Hawke’s smile was watery as her eyes stared at the sky beyond him before snapping back to him and Eli, arms out. 

“I believe Eli very much meant to wake me.” She said. “He must be hungry.” 

“Reyna…” Fenris began sitting beside her on the bed, their son still cradled gently in his arms. “Do not do this to yourself for our sakes.” 

Hawke said nothing, her pale hand coming up instead to cradle his cheek, her thumb tracing the bottom of his lip as she stared at him, one corner of her lips lifted in a forlorn smile. “Fenris, don’t you realize… I would do anything for you.” 

His heart caught in his throat as Hawke looked down, gently fluffing Elias’s hair, before looking back up at him. “For both of you.” She amended. 

He knew that. And the knowledge sat heavy in his heart as he watched his squirming son latch eagerly onto Reyna’s breast. 

It was not ten minutes later that there was a quick knock on the door. Hawke’s face hardened into a mask of resignation. It was the same mask she’d worn the moment she realized she had to choose between mages and templars. Fenris stood, but the door was already opening. Varania’s face was set in fury as she slipped inside the room, Sabina’s sleeping from heavy in her arms, wrapped in the blanket from her bed. Varania herself was simply wearing the shift she’d worn to sleep, but looming behind her was Rainier, already dressed. Fenris’s eyes sunk to the blade in his hand. 

“What is it?” Hawke was beginning to push herself off the bed, her face losing the steely resoluteness and dissolving into something more fearful. 

“It is going to be alright.” Varania said immediately, laying Sabina’s sleeping form on the end of their bed. 

“He’s gone.” Fenris said flatly. 

“He  _ can’t _ be.” Hawke argued, although her voice trembled as if the horrid truth was already dawning on her. Anders had escaped nearly a dozen times from the circle. Of course he could slip from their grasp now. 

“The Inquisitor is in the cells.” Rainier growled. “We haven’t given up on finding him yet.” 

 

Hawke protested when he left, reminding him that Anders had tried to kill him, that Fenris was in the most danger. But Fenris felt safe, for now. If the mage had escaped, he would not risk waiting around the castle. 

He was, however, ill prepared for the full extent of the Inquisitor’s fury. Maria Cadash had obviously been roused immediately upon the discovery of her guards (mages and templars) unconscious, the cell open. She was standing in the center of the dungeon, hands on her hips, glaring up at a stuttering guard who had somehow been just outside the building, but hadn’t heard any commotion. The shirt Cadash was wearing was too large for her frame, the red silk slipping off one shoulder. Fenris took a moment to appreciate the first time he’d ever seen one of Varric’s shirts buttoned up for decency’s sake. Beside her, Scout Harding had her arms crossed in displeasure. 

“You had four mages and templars here.” Fenris observed, looking at the men and women on the ground. 

“Six.” Cadash corrected. “There were two others at the front door. These four were knocked out magically. The two out front were clubbed with something rather heavy.” 

Two people, then. A mage and a non-mage, rescuing Anders. More traitors in her midst, snakes in the Inquisitor’s bosom. 

“Maria.” Leliana had emerged from the stairs behind Fenris, her face pale and drawn. “Maria, I… it was not one of ours.” 

“Who?” The Inquisitor demanded, dismissing the guard on her left. 

“I am sorry. I should of…” Leliana began again, but Maria’s glare only intensified. Leliana sighed, hunching her shoulders in defense. It made the spymaster look… young. With a start, he realized the woman was only as old as the rest of them. 

“Morrigan is gone. King Alistair and her son are in the courtyard now, leaving.” Leliana’s mouth twisted in grief. “She took him, I am certain of it.” 

The Inquisitor rocked back on her heels in shock, gray eyes wide in disbelief before her mouth thinned into a severe line. “Where?” She questioned, then shook her head when she realized that nobody there would have the answer. She twisted to Harding immediately. “Close the gates.” 

Harding nodded briskly, dashing past both Fenris and Leliana. The Inquisitor stood motionless for only a moment longer, brushing the palms of her hands down her things before lifting her chin into the air like a queen. “Maria, you cannot.” Leliana protested. “Think, he is the King of…” 

“He can do whatever the fuck he likes in his castle.” Cadash’s voice was calm, far too calm. “But this one is mine.” 

Fenris and Leliana both drew to the side as she passed, exchanging a tense look. The air wafting behind her smelled of cinnamon, of ink and coffee. “Maker, guide us.” Leliana whispered in despair. “They must have… I do not know why they would do this. Morrigan, well it is in character, but Ali…” 

All they could do was follow her, so they did. Up the stairs, into the bright light. 

 

__ Take me to church  
_ I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies  
_ __ I'll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife.

 

Varric was the first one to intercept them as Maria made her way, slowly and deliberately, past the sparring yard. “Did you find any sign?” He asked, reaching one hand out to brush her shoulder. 

“Morrigan is gone.” Maria answered simply. “And Alistair is attempting to leave.” 

“Attempting?” Varric echoed. Maria said nothing more, continuing on with a fierce determination. Varric met Fenris’s eyes. 

“Attempting.” Fenris repeated. Varric rolled his own eyes skyward. 

“Andraste’s ass, Princess.” He exhaled a sigh that was half worry, half exasperation. “You’re not kidnapping the King of Ferelden.” 

Even Fenris was concerned by the rather poignant silence from the Inquisitor. Varric rubbed his temple, falling into step beside her. 

Josephine was in a tizzy on the stairs, quill flying as a scout informed her that the gates had been closed on the Inquisitor’s explicit order. Her eyes lit on their small group and she made to intercept them.

“Not now, Josie.” Maria slipped to the ambassador’s side. 

“But…” Josephine trailed helplessly in her wake. “Inquisitor, the protocol…” 

“Can hang.” Maria chirped almost cheerfully. “Stay here, Josie.” 

Josephine stopped on the landing, staring down after the Inquisitor as she walked. The King of Ferelden was already on his horse, Morrigan’s son on a pony beside him. He was talking to the lad with an air of nonchalant concern, but his eyes flicked to the staircase and met Maria’s as she descended imperiously into the courtyard.

“My lady Inquisitor.” Alistair called graciously as the crowd parted for Maria. “I didn’t realize you would wish to say your goodbyes personally.” 

This, Fenris realized belatedly, was perhaps more dangerous than anything the Inquisitor had yet done. This was a dagger in the back instead of a threat in front of you. Still, she moved impossibly forward with a resoluteness that wasn’t dimmed by the fact she was dressed in Varric’s shirt. The king’s horse was very nearly twice her height, but when she reached it one of her hands grabbed the reins and tugged them sharply from the king’s grip, her other arm reaching up and tugging on the pommel of the sword strapped to the king’s waist. 

“I suppose.” She examined the pommel with a glare, “I should thank you for not stabbing my people.” 

The King simply grinned down at her, confident in a way that made Fenris’s blood boil. Too clever to make an admission, even with the dried blood on the pommel of his sword as evidence of his crime. 

“I appreciate the thought.” Alistair continued blithely. “But we really should be going.” 

“Call her back.” Cadash demanded, jerking the reins further from the king’s grasping hands. Alistair’s smile had grown cold. 

“I don’t know what you’re referring to.” He lied. Maria glared up at him, eyes sparking with righteous fury. 

“Fuck you.” She whispered. “Call her back, and I won’t hold both of you accountable.” 

“A shame. He was known for escaping you know.” Alistair continued conversationally. “I know you must be distraught. We’ll forgive you for…” 

“I don’t need your forgiveness or approval and I won’t be bullied.” Cadash spat. “I know you can call her back. Do it.” 

Alistair’s veneer had dropped, his expression dark and tense. “Inquisitor, I’m not looking a gift horse in the mouth.” He whispered. “Let it go. It’s over, it’s not your problem any longer.” 

“You look at that woman with her new baby, Alistair, and you tell me it’s not my damn problem.” The Inquisitor whispered back furiously. “You tell them they’re not safe, your highness.” 

The sarcastic emphasis on your highness made Alistair grin again, shaking his head. “Sorry, your worship. Open the gate, and you’ll never have to see me again. Promise.” 

“If you don’t…” Fenris saw Cadash falter, just for a moment, head tilting as if she’d look over her shoulder, back at them. But she didn’t, her spine straightening instead. “What would the people of Ferelden think about your boy’s mother?” 

Despite the whisper, Fenris heard Leliana gasp next to him. No, Cadash hadn’t fought the urge to look at them. She’d fought the urge to look at the child on the pony beside her. Morrigan’s boy. And… apparently, Alistair’s. 

“What would your lords think? Planning on passing him off as a foolish marriage during the blight? Or a bastard with a serving maid?” Maria pressed, her grip tightening to white knuckles on the reins of the king’s horse. “Ferelden already accepted a bastard once, after all. I suppose it doesn’t matter if they do it a second time.”

“Maria!” Leliana called, rushing forward. “You don’t mean that, he is a  _ child _ .” 

“Anders almost killed a  _ baby _ .” Maria was staring up at the king, and Alistair’s sunny disposition had disappeared as he glared down at her. “Should someone that dangerous be allowed to roam free?” 

“I’d be very careful, Cadash.” Alistair said softly. “Without your armies, without the support of Orlais and Ferelden, what are you?” 

“The woman who saved the  _ fucking _ world!” Cadash shouted in fury. “And you are  _ still _ the king who rode in on Chantal Amell’s coattails.” 

“A carta criminal.” Alistair said lowly. “Who surrounded herself with thieves and murderers and got lucky.” 

Alistair had looked up and behind the Inquisitor. Fenris followed his gaze, saw it land up the stairs. Saw Hawke, her face unreadable as she looked down into the courtyard. Varania had gotten dressed, one hand grasping Sabina’s, the other clenched on Rainier’s forearm. And it was Rainier that Alistair’s gaze had rested on. Maria’s eyes flicked back, saw where Alistair’s had landed. 

Varric’s face was growing red in anger, Leliana’s distress was evident. And Cadash looked very much like she’d like to pull the sword from Alistair’s side and stab him with it. “There are penalties for impersonating a warden in Ferelden, Inquisitor.” 

Rainier’s shirt slipping from Varania’s shoulder. His carved toys littering the floor of their room as Sabina set up battles. His hand on his sister’s back as she walked, her smile bright. The feeling in Varania’s heart when she’d thought of him, a searing warmth that Fenris had held in the palm of his hand. A tentative song, quiet and beautiful. 

She hadn’t sang since that  _ monster _ had touched her. But Rainier touched her, and she smiled. Varania could certainly do better, that was patently obvious. But…

As if sensing the danger, she stepped forward, angling herself between the king’s gaze and Rainier. Lose Anders, or lose Rainier? Varania had lost enough. 

 

__ To keep the Goddess on my side  
__ She demands a sacrifice  
__ To drain the whole sea  
__ Get something shiny  
__ Something meaty for the main course  
__ That's a fine looking high horse  
_ What you got in the stable?  
_ __ We've a lot of starving faithful

 

“Maria.” Fenris called. Fenris watched the Inquisitor’s shoulder tense, then she pushed away from the King’s horse with an exhale, stepping backwards. 

“You won’t always be the Inquisitor, you know.” Alistair said mildly. “And I won’t forget this.” 

“Good.” Cadash snarled, turning on her heel, hollering as she went to the open the damned gate. 

Fenris turned, hunching his own shoulders under the gaze of the group on the steps. But Varania, impetuous and impatient, couldn’t wait. She dropped Sabina’s hand, taking the steps quickly. She was frowning as the gate opened, eyes flicking between it and him in question. “What has happened?” She asked urgently. 

“It is done.” Fenris said simply, calmly. “Morrigan has taken the mage to Maker knows where, and he is beyond our grasp. The King will not help us recover him.” 

“He must!” Varania protested in indignation, bristling all over, furious eyes landing on the king below her. “He cannot be allowed to leave simply because he is king!” 

A burning sense of injustice, a childhood knowledge of the fact that the powerful and wealthy could do as they wished. There was no placed for it in the south, not for Varania. She made as if to push forward, to grab the king and scold him herself. Fenris stopped her, wrapping his hands around her shoulders. 

“Don’t.” He instructed. “Do not… it is irrelevant. We are fine, we are together.” It was more than they had before. Between all of them, it did not matter if Anders ever came again. And Fenris…

He would explain to Reyna, make her understand, that he could not break Varania’s heart one more time. And she would nod, accept it, would have made the same decision herself. Fenris allowed himself to let go of Varania as she melted in defeat, continuing to scowl down at the horses. 

Fenris followed her eyes, saw the boy on the pony throw a grave wave in their direction. It caused both of them to look up, just in time to see Sabina wave back, her other hand clasped in Rainier’s.

Fenris climbed the rest of the stairs, passing by the man. He paused, resting his head on Sabina’s curls, then pitched his voice low. “You don’t deserve either of them.” 

“I know.” Rainier said gravely. “But nobody will treasure them as I do.” The man extended his free hand, and Fenris took it, shaking it once briskly, before continuing to climb. 

“He’s really gone?” Hawke asked, exhausted, rocking the baby on her shoulder back and forth in a motion he was sure was as much to calm her as it was to calm him. 

“If… if the Inquisitor had forced the King to give up Anders, he would have taken Rainier.” Fenris whispered. “I could not…” 

Hawke’s eyes glittered with tears as she blinked rapidly. “No. Of course you couldn’t.” She said easily. “I’d have strangled you if you’d had.” 

“I am sorry, Reyna.” He whispered softly, pulling her and Elias to his chest. Hawke gave a strangled sob.

“It’s awful.” Her voice cracked and a shudder passed through her frame. “I’m almost glad, that I don’t have to…” 

“I know.” Fenris whispered, without judgement. “I know.” 

 

__ No masters or kings when the ritual begins  
_ There is no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin  
_ __ In the madness and soil of that sad earthly scene

 

There was a dagger in the Inquisitor’s stairwell banister, as if she’d stabbed it in there as she trailed up the steps. Hawke looked at it and raised one elegant eyebrow in his direction. Fenris shrugged simply. 

“Curly, if that’s you again, I’m not sure I can stop her from stabbing you.” Varric called down cheerfully. Hawke grinned. 

“Ah, just us. We come bearing your favorite fledgling.” Hawke wheedeled. Fenris heard Varric’s warm laugh. 

“Well, in that case…” Varric called. Hawke adjusted the baby in her arms, cooing softly down at his green eyes as they climbed up the steps. At the top, Fenris’s eyes were drawn to the myriad of wrinkled paper balls all over the elegant carpet. The Inquisitor and Varric were both standing beside the desk, looking guilty and strangely pleased with themselves. 

“We were betting whose aim was better.” Varric explained. “Trying to hit the nose on that ugly portrait behind you.”

Fenris turned and looked over his shoulder. On the wall was a rather crude drawing of the king of Ferelden. It appeared as if he was surrounded by a swarm of bees. There was an arrow in red pointing to his crown, a note scrawled next to it. 

_ Know a Jenny in Denerim, yeah? Bees for bastards!  _

“Are these letters from the Merchant’s guild, Varric?” Hawke asked, kicking one across the ground. Varric’s smile broadened. 

“I see one of Cullen’s reports as well.” Fenris pointed out. 

“No you don’t.” Maria argued, taking a step towards Hawke and peering at Elias in her arms. “How is he?” 

“Would you like to hold him?” Hawke asked generously. Within seconds, his son had been transferred from Hawke’s arms to Maria’s. She hummed a note off key as she wandered over to the open balcony doors, pausing at the threshold of the doors so the light of the sun fell on Elias’s face, illuminated her red hair. Elias’s green eyes fixed on it, fascinated. 

“I’m sorry.” Cadash said sadly, her voice a whisper. “I didn’t…” 

“Don’t you dare apologize.” Hawke cut in waspishly. “He nearly killed you too. You did everything you could.” 

Hawke perched herself on the Inquisitor’s desk next to Varric, slinging an arm over his shoulders. Fenris slipped to the open doors, leaning against the opposite side of Cadash, folding his arms over his chest. 

“You should not have antagonized him.” Fenris said quietly as Hawke and Varric began to talk. Cadash smiled down into Elias’s face. 

“He started it.” Cadash claimed, rocking back and forth. “You’re as much a worrier as Varric.” 

“Somebody should worry about you. You are certainly incapable of doing it for yourself.” Fenris growled, nearly rolling his eyes as she laughed. “And if you are no longer the Inquisitor, what will you do with an angry king?” 

“That sounds like a riddle.” She teased. That time, Fenris did roll his eyes.

“You are impossible.” Fenris stated. Cadash was still smiling, shaking her head in silent exasperation down at Elias. 

“You protected me in the fade. You attempted to, at any rate.” Fenris said evenly. “I remember.” 

“I don’t.” This made Cadash frown.

“And you threw every available resource you had into finding Anders. Then recovering Hawke.” Her mark had gotten larger because of their ordeal, but he didn’t mention it. He didn’t want to draw Varric’s attention to it, not now. 

“I’m still going to.” Cadash persisted stubbornly. “I don’t particularly like the high-handedness of stealing someone right out from under my damn nose.” 

“Why?” Fenris finally asked, mostly out of annoyance. Cadash’s clear gray eyes rose to meet his, guileless and wide.

“What are friends for?” She asked brightly. 

Fenris had no answer for that. He looked awkwardly away, out over the mountains. “He needs a godmother. And a godfather.” Fenris brushed his hand back through his hair awkwardly. 

“If that was you asking.” Cadash asked, barely restrained laughter laced through her voice, “I would be honored. What do you think, little Hawke?” 

Cadash’s calloused finger ran down the baby’s plump cheek. The hand without the sputtering magic, thank the Maker. She looked up, feeling the silence in the room. Hawke and Varric had stopped talking, mostly because Varric had become rather suddenly enraptured by the sight Maria made in the doorway. Fenris met Hawke’s eyes, saw them glitter with amusement.

“See something you like, Tethras?” Cadash asked in a purr. 

“You make an impressive picture.” Varric admitted with a besotted grin. “If you crop out the Broody elf.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song is "Take Me to Church" by Hozier. And, tbh, it is one of the songs I truly think of as Maria's theme.


	93. A Song and a Sword

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varania says goodbye to a friend.

 

_ I can't see the stars anymore living here _ __   
_ Let's go to the hills where the outlines are clear _ __   
_ Bring on the wonder, bring on the song _ _   
_ __ I pushed you down deep in my soul for too long

 

Even in death, the girl was beautiful. Rose’s blonde curls had been arranged lovingly by one of the chantry sisters and she’d been placed in a blue dress that would have made her eyes shine like the sky. Rose’s eyes would never open again, never take in the sky above them, or the mountains surrounding them.

Mother had said death was a journey when Varania was young. Varania didn’t understand why people said that then, nor could she now. Death was a place, a person, an object. It accompanied every footstep, dogged every breath. It was never far away, could be summoned by a sharp blade, a cough, or an unsteady step. Varania had walked with death for so long, she knew it as an old friend. 

The chantry sister set the lit torch to Rose’s golden curls and Varania felt her heart catch in her throat as they ignited. Her hand almost lifted in protest, but she curled it into a fist instead, letting it rest against her thigh as the pyre was engulfed. When the tears came, she let them fall. 

 

Sabina was waiting when Varania slipped back into the keep, her shoulders slumped with sadness. Sabina was smiling at Thom’s heel, a cleverly crafted paper lantern in her arms nearly as large as her torso. “Thom made this! He says we can send it up to Rose and she can see it!” Sabina claimed excitedly, hopping from one foot to the other. 

Varania had to swallow past the lump in her throat as she looked down at Sabina. She nodded, briskly. Efficiency had always been easier than emotion. “Yes. That’s a fine idea, dulce meum. Maybe the Maker will see it too, yes?” 

“Can we send it from the wall?” Sabina asked, indicating the steps. Varania nodded and Sabina made to take off, stopped short by Thom’s hand on her shoulder. 

“Let me carry it, you just focus on getting up the stairs without incident jumping bean.” His voice was gruff with laughter as he plucked the lantern from Sabina’s hands and over her head. Sabina raced toward the steps, dashing up them fearlessly, scattering a small group of Inquisition scouts as she went.

“Are you alright, my lady?” Thom asked gently, one hand settling on the small of her back as they walked.

“I will be.” Varania said softly. “I am used to surviving when others do not.” 

Thom’s face was wreathed in the dusk’s shadows, making his expression unreadable. But his hand moved from her back to the curve of her waist, pulling her closer to his bulk as they trudged up the stairs behind Sabina. She danced in excitement at the top of the steps, lifting the lantern from Thom before they had even reached the top of the steps and flying to the battlements. 

“Can I light it?” Sabina’s quick fingers were playing with the wick attached to the lantern. “Obsecro, mama?” 

Varania nodded and Sabina grinned in joy, calling mana to her fingers in a sputter of sparks. Her thin tanned fingers sparkled as she set them next to the wick, watching it catch. For a sickening moment, all Varania could think about was the torch touching Rose’s curls. Sabina’s fingers pulled away and she looked up with a flush of pride and pleasure, catching Thom’s eye, watching for his approval.

“Nicely done, bean.” Thom nodded in satisfaction, placing one hand on the other side of the lantern. Their glittering eyes both jumped to hers and Varania obligingly placed her hands on the other side. “Ready… set…” Thom began. 

“Go!” Sabina shouted, her arms flying into the air. The lantern left Varania’s fingers slowly, a gust of wind catching it and sending it over the battlements. It dropped, as if dizzied by the sudden freedom, before it began to climb into the pink and purple sky. 

“Qui exaltas me!” Sabina demanded, turning to Thom with her arms up. He didn’t demand a translation, bending to catch her in his strong arms and raising her above the stone so she could peer at the lantern rising up towards the first early stars with a joyful sense of wonder. 

“Star light, star bright…” Sabina began to sing. 

The sound of Sabina’s voice cut through her like a knife, the trembling soprano as clean and beautiful as anything Varania had ever heard. She felt dizzy, up so high, staring over foreign mountains and watching the same stars she had watched for years rise over her still. The tears surprised her, overwhelmed her when they arrived again, salty and cool on her cheeks as the wind blew their lantern up ever higher. 

“Mama?” Sabina asked quietly. Varania wiped her face with the back of her hand, catching Sabina as she leaned from Thom’s arms into hers, gathering her to her chest as the lantern vanished into the setting sun. “Don’t be sad, mama.” Sabina pleaded, wiping her own warm hands over Varania’s cheeks. Varania couldn’t help the bubble of hysterical laughter that emerged at her daughter’s frantic soothing. 

“I am fine, my love.” Varania promised, tangling one of her hands into Sabina’s curls. Sabina laid her head obligingly on Varania’s shoulder as Thom slipped behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist. 

“Do you miss Rose?” Sabina asked, bright eyes wary as she met Varania’s.

“Yes.” Varania admitted. “I miss many things…”

She missed the warm sun of Minrathous. She missed her mother’s little songs while she cleaned. She missed the sound of Nico’s voice and the way Sabina had smelled when she was as old as little Eli. 

Someday, she would miss Sabina as well, when her little girl grew old enough to perch on the edge of a ship with a carving knife and a song. 

“But I am glad to have you.” Varania whispered, kissing Sabina’s temple. “Both of you.” 

 

_ Bring on the wonder, bring on the song _ __   
_ I pushed you down deep in my soul for too long _ __   
_ Bring on the wonder, we got it all wrong _ _   
_ __ We pushed you down deep in our souls for too long

 

“Are you certain you didn’t just have too much to drink and misplace them?” 

At her question, Dorian turned and fixed her with an intent and piercing glare that almost made her shrivel back. It had been three days since Anders had escaped, but that was exactly how long it took Dorian to figure out that his research had been stolen. He’d begun his rampage in the rotunda before making his way to the mage’s tower. Most of the other men and women had scattered out of his way, with the sole exception of Varania. She’d looked up from her bench torn between exasperation and amusement. 

She must have shown some sort of warning on her face, because instantly Dorian was contrite and charming, slumping into an abandoned chair with a dramatic flair. “Years of work!” He complained. “In the hands of a scheming bastard and his swamp apostate lover! And a mage too idiotic to remember that being possessed is a bad thing!” 

“Is it all gone?” Varania asked, trying to remind herself to be patient. 

“No.” He answered flippantly. “I remember the important parts - the final results. The process is lost though, there is no way I would be able to recreate all my notes on my experiments.” 

Varania waited, eyebrow cocked, arms crossed, and lips pursed. Dorian raised his own eyebrow. “Now, what is that look for?” 

“You wish me to ask about your research so you can flaunt it.” 

Dorian rocked back in his chair, a surprised laugh barking from his lips. Varania barely resisted the urge to laugh as well at his obnoxious and, frankly, endearing preening. 

“Well, aren’t you going to ask?” He stroked his chin, shaking his head. “It isn’t as much fun unless I’ve got an audience, after all.” 

Varania sighed wearily, leaning back against her desk. “What kind of research was it?” 

“So glad you asked!” Dorian brightened considerably, leaning forward on his elbows. “My grumpy elven friend, I had made rather  _ substantial _ progress on slowing the progression of the blight.” 

Dorian launched into a detailed explanation of his methods to cure somebody named Felix, a name that caused a shadow to linger on Dorian’s face before it was banished by his enthusiasm. As he trailed to the end of his lecture, Varania shook her head. “The Inquisitor should not have let the king leave.” Varania muttered darkly. “Your research was valuable and Anders should have been held accountable.” 

“Well, she wasn’t going to risk our lovable oaf, now was she?” Dorian asked pleasantly. Varania’s head jerked back up as if she’d been burned. Dorian’s voice trailed off, taken aback by her reaction. 

“Fasta vass, they didn’t tell you.” He guessed. Varania’s mind had flashed back to that moment she’d seen the Inquisitor staring down the king, Fenris at her elbow. The king’s eyes had flicked up to their group on the stairs. Reyna with baby Eli, Thom and Sabina, herself. She’d thought they’d been looking at all of them.

But it hadn’t been them. She could see now, that the king’s eyes had been pointed above her. And Fenris had turned back to the Inquisitor, his mouth forming a word she hadn’t recognized at the time. It hadn’t been Inquisitor, nor Cadash. 

It had been Maria. A plea in the Inquisitor’s given name. And she had wrenched herself away from the king, protecting Thom. Losing Anders. 

Dorian had stood, taken an uneasy step toward her with his hands outstretched comfortingly. Then he thought better of invading their uneasy boundaries, looking around in a panic for one of the mages or apprentices he had scattered in his temper. 

“It is fine.” An echo of Fenris’s words on the steps as he’d stop her from storming off after the king herself.  _ We are fine _ .  _ We are together. _

“Excuse me.” Varania said quickly, slipping past Dorian into the bright spring air. 

 

_ I don't have the time for a drink from the cup _ __   
_ Let's rest for a while 'til our souls catch us up _ __   
_ Bring on the wonder, bring on the song _ _   
_ __ I pushed you down deep in my soul for too long

 

Fenris and Reyna slept so deeply that even when Varania opened the door to their room, they didn’t stir. She paused, momentarily disoriented, until she saw slight movement in the cradle beside their bed. Sighing, she peeked into it, meeting startled green eyes that opened and closed blearily as the baby attempted to fix on her face. 

“Bonum mane, amica mea.” Varania said softly, unable to resist the impulse to scoop the infant into her arms. He smelled of milk, of soap, of all the fresh clean things in the world. She could not help but thrill at the brush of his hair against her cheek as he wiggled against her neck, his little legs pushing reflexively, readying themselves to walk already. 

“Pater tuus est pertinax stultus.” Varania half sung the words, grinning at their meaning. “Quid autem facere volumus cum eo?” 

“Ego audire.” Fenris mumbled sleepily from the bed. “Is he awake?” 

“Yes, but he is content.” Varania settled herself into one of the chairs, stepping deftly over the massive mabari. “I know. I know why you allowed the King to leave.” 

Fenris propped himself up on one elbow, an arm thrown lazily over Reyna’s waist as he studied Varania with those piercing green eyes under the white fringe of his hair. “If you wish to keep Rainier, I would not take him from you.” 

Varania looked down at the dark head resting on her shoulder, swallowed past the lump in her throat. “Reyna…” 

“Would have been furious if I had risked your happiness.” Fenris interrupted. “We will defend ourselves if necessary. I suspect the witch has taken Anders to Chantal Amell, who was striking out west into the unknown last we saw her. With luck, he will not survive the journey and we need never worry about him again.” 

His tone was dry enough that Varania could have lit a bonfire with it. “Besides, the Inquisitor is only slightly less fond of Rainier than you appear to be. I doubt she would have risked him either, even in her fury.” 

“But you asked her not to.” 

“Not in so many words.” Fenris conceded. But Fenris and the Inquisitor very often did not need words. Perhaps it was a shared bond forged through mutual distaste of the magic imbedded in their flesh. 

“Why?” Varania asked. “You do not approve of him.” 

“You are my sister.” Fenris said quietly. “And I love you. Have you not lost enough?” 

She wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand, frustrated with the tears that kept coming so easily. “Te tamen nosse me?” 

She had asked him every day since they’d left the fade, since Eli was born. Frightened, still, that she would ask and find him staring up at her blankly. That whatever magic the demon had worked when it touched his mind had worn off, leaving the fragile pieces of his memories scattered to the winds and seas. 

“I do.” He responded gravely, as frightened that someday the answer would change as she was. But it wasn’t today. Today, their shared tenuous bond, tumultuous history, was as intact as it had been. Fenris laid his chin on Reyna’s arm, smiling at the bundle in her arms. “Will you sing to him?” 

Varania’s laugh was watery, but she complied, humming one note before she began. “Bring on the wonder, we got it all wrong… We pushed you down deep in our souls, so hang on…” 

Fenris’s eyes drifted closed in peaceful acceptance. 

 

A week later, Varania found a new sword hilt delivered to her rooms. Curved elegantly, made of silverite instead of wood, runes inserted into the metal. It fit in her hands like it had been made for her. There was a note - simple and clear with a stylized M and C at the bottom. A gift, to replace the ruined hilt from the day of Eli’s birth. When she twisted it in her hands, she caught sight of animals embossed in the leather grip. 

A hawk, a wolf, a griffon, and a dragon. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *obsecro - please
> 
> *qui exaltas me - lift me up
> 
> *bonum mane, amica mea - good morning, love
> 
> *pater tuus est pertinax stultus - Your father is a stubborn fool
> 
> *Quid autem facere volumus cum eo? - What will we do with him?
> 
> *ego audire - I am listening
> 
> *te tamen nosse me - You still know me?


	94. Playing with Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happens after you save the world and fall in love?  
> Cleaning up the mess after isn't always easy.

Maria had known she had loved him in the fade. It was  _ ridiculous _ that she had taken that long to come to it. There’d been moments before that where she’d felt the first fragile stirrings. That future she had dubbed ‘not real, never real’ in her head where he’d confessed that he’d been falling for her  _ before _ a demon ripped off his head. 

Not real, never real. She shuddered as she reminded herself. 

Then there had been the night after Redcliffe, where she’d woken up from a nightmare where the demon ripped all of them to shreds in front of her and found herself in his arms without really truly understanding how it had happened. 

The evening Haven was attacked, where he had  _ almost _ kissed her. Would have, if not for the interruption of Bea and Cassandra. And the archdemon, couldn’t forget about that disaster. 

The night, and she cringed internally when she thought about it, when she’d had an impossible amount to drink and threw herself at him in her stairwell. That, that was entirely Bull’s fault. She still couldn’t taste certain flavors after that misadventure. It was a good thing she never liked licorice. 

She hadn’t realized how far gone she was until she’d woken up as if from a trance in the middle of Hercinia the day it burned with all her hopes and dreams. Varric’s arms wrapped around her, the nightmare’s voice shrinking as his overwhelmed it.

She’d been playing with fire ever since. She shouldn’t be surprised that she was finally getting burned. 

 

Varric turned a piece of rubble over and over in his calloused hands, staring down at it. The plan had been to accompany the Hawkes back to Kirkwall. The city had been rather adamant that they wanted their Champion back, which seemed to shock Hawke more than anyone. The fledgling was old enough to travel, Thom had already decided to leave the Inquisition and pursue his own personal path of redemption which could be begun just as easily in Kirkwall as Skyhold, and Maria had a moment to breathe. 

If she would have known it was this bad, she’d have made an excuse to stay away and keep Varric with her. She’d been in Kirkwall after the qunari attack, and the city hadn’t even looked half as bad as it did now. That was just the buildings though, it was the people that caught her eye. They barely glanced at any of them, eyes down and steps harried. 

Frightened to look up. 

While Varric stared at the ruined city, Maria had paced around what he had informed her tersely had been the courtyard in front of the chantry. After she’d explored every bit of debris and and ever nook and cranny (picking up several coppers in spite of herself), she’d sat near the steps that used to lead to the chantry and began to stack up a small pyramid of stones. 

“Do you ever sit still?” 

She looked up, eyes narrowed against the bright sun, right into Varric’s face. In spite of himself, his honey eyes were warm with affection. She grinned, as charming and roguish as she could, indicating her small stack of precariously stacked stones. “I’m practicing. I’m going to apply to build a new chantry by hand.” 

“That bored, huh?” Varric reached a gloved hand down, always for her left hand. She appreciated the thought. Even on her best days, the mark in her right hand was sore. After the precarious autumn sea voyage… well, it wasn’t a good day. “Sorry, where were we in the tour?” 

She allowed him to pull her to her feet, but instead of stepping away she wound her arms around his neck, letting her fingers run through the loose hair at the nape of his neck. “We’re in the part of the tour where you tell me you’re not coming back to Skyhold with me.” She said quietly, capturing his eyes with hers. 

“Princess, I didn’t say that.” He protested, letting his own hands linger on her waist, pulling her closer. 

“You didn’t have to. I did it for you.” She could be brave for him. If she had to be brave for the rest of the world, she could do it for Varric because she actually loved him. The rest of the world could hang. “This isn’t your problem, you know. And the city has Hawke back, she can make a huge difference.” 

“It’s my home. And Hawke’s got fledgling, she can’t be single-handedly putting a city back together.” Varric thought aloud, pulling her body even closer to his. “I could stay for awhile, get it back on the right track.” 

And there was the burn in the back of her throat. She couldn’t hide the emotions threatening to take over her expression, so she pressed her cheek against his shoulder again, kissing the exposed skin at his neck just below his earlobe. I love you, she thought desperately, come back with me. 

“We’ll write.” She said instead, her voice infuriatingly steady. “And I’ll visit.” 

 

“You haven’t been answering your mail from the Merchant’s Guild.” 

Her sultry, smoky voice was like a shock in his system. Like being doused with cold water and it caused him to swing from the desk in Hawke’s study like a man that had been starving and just scented a five course meal. Hawke was standing behind her in the door, arms crossed in amusement. Maria had Fledgling in her arms and she was still wearing leathers that were travel stained, dusty. The baby had found the gold chain around Maria’s neck and was tugging it, enraptured by the shining metal. 

The room was brighter with her in it. Warmer. He hadn’t realized it had gotten so late. Hawke was in her shift already. 

“Andraste’s lily white ass.” He grinned over the library railing at her. “Are you getting even more beautiful, or is it just my imagination?” 

Hawke rolled her eyes and Maria’s laugh shimmered in the air as she hefted the baby higher up on her hip. “Tethras.” Maria reprimanded, “the guild is writing me to make you answer them. It’s annoying.” 

“Definitely more beautiful.” He continued decisively, ignoring her. “A vision. Are they copying you in Val Royeaux yet?” 

“Funny, that’s where I just came from.” She pulled the golden crest from inside her tunic, handing it to Fledgling’s tiny fingers. “Leliana is publishing an edict on First Day. I wanted to tell you two myself.” 

“Tell us what?” Hawke asked curiously.

Varric asked “Ever gonna call her Victoria?” at the same time. 

“No.” Maria answered Varric first, shifting to pull a rolled parchment out of her bag. She handed it to Hawke, taking a step back to examine her reaction closely as Hawke unrolled the paper. Hawke read in silence for a few seconds before shrieking, loudly. The sound startled Fledgling, made his face crumble like a paper ball as he began to wail. 

“Right, you’re going back to your mum.” Maria said quickly. 

“Reyna?” Fenris called, entering the library. “What is it?” 

“Did you do this?” Hawke asked, scooping the baby into her arms and shushing him, grinning from ear to ear.

“No, Leliana did. But, I’m glad.” Maria shrugged easily.

“What is it, Hawke? Don’t leave us in suspense.” Varric ambled down the steps, pulling Maria toward him with one arm around her waist until she laughed and circled his neck with her arms. 

“The circles are over.” Hawke declared with a relish. “They’re forming a new college instead. The mages will govern themselves.” 

With a bright smile, Hawke turned to Fenris, peering into his green eyes as their babies cries softened. “Fenris, I’m free! And we don’t have to worry about Varania, or Bean. Even Eli… they’ll grow up and they’ll never know.” 

As she spoke, tears came to Hawke’s eyes. Fenris smiled at her softly. “You have always been free, Reyna.” He advised carefully. 

But now, Varric thought, Hawke didn’t have to be afraid of a gilded cage. And Varania could keep working on that little storefront Varric had won in a game of cards and given her as a first day present. Bean and Fledgling would never know the threat of a prison. 

“Happy first day, Hawke.” Maria declared with a relish. 

Varric knew he was playing with fire, kissing her like he did in front of Hawke. But he couldn’t help himself. She was back, and realer than anything else in Kirkwall or the whole of Thedas. His fingers were in her hair and he was lifting her off her feet with one arm, her legs wrapping around his waist eagerly. 

“Venhedis! Not on my desk!” Fenris barked as he sat Maria on the edge of the nearest surface. 

 

The dwarf in front of her with his hat in his hands shifted from foot to foot, eyes glued to the stones at his feet. Maria tilted her head, letting her eyes flick past him to Sera. She was laying across one of the benches in the great hall, her long legs dangling freely, but even Maria could tell the elf was shrugging. 

“Are we going to get to the point some time today, or are we just going to sit here in awkward silence?” Maria finally asked, thankful that Josie wasn’t standing near by. The dwarf coughed, twisting his cap before he finally spoke. 

“I’m sorry...sorry to trouble you, your worship.” He said grimly. “I just… I’ve been hired by the Vasca and Davri families…” 

Maria was too good of a card player to let her neutral expression slip, but Sera was not. In a second, the elf had shot up from the bench and was staring holes into the back of the dwarf’s head. “I must have risen up in the world if the Vascas and Davris have bothered to pay me any attention.” She remarked wryly instead. Maker take her, if Bianca was causing problems she was going to strangle the woman. Maria had  _ real _ problems, damnit. Cleaning up from the mage and templar war plus the breech was turning into a mess. Foot shortages were rife everywhere, and…

“Bianca Davri is missing.” 

Sera’s eyebrows disappeared into her mop of unruly blonde hair. Somebody, she thought fondly, needed to discuss the concept of keeping your cards close with the elf. Maria smiled, polite and friendly. “Sorry to hear. I haven’t seen her, but if you need help with the search I can talk to Commander Rutherford. We can spare some people.” 

“We… ah, have sent agents to Kirkwall.” The man was actually blushing beneath his beard. “They haven’t found her, but we found out Master Tethras…” 

“Is upstairs, if you need to talk to him. He’s been here for about a week.” Maria couldn’t help the slight twitch of her lips. “I doubt he’s hiding her beneath my bed though.”

And, Maria thought with a vindictive rush of satisfaction, if Bianca Davri had showed up in Kirkwall at Hawke’s estate while Varric was in Skyhold… well, Maria couldn’t wait to hear that story. 

“That isn’t necessary.” The man said quickly. “I...uh, was to check your whereabouts.” 

If Sera’s eyebrows climbed any higher, they’d never find them again.

“Would you like my schedule? Ambassador Montiliyet could provide it to you.” Maria crossed her arms over her chest, staring the man down until his eyes dropped to his boots again. “Although, I must admit, I’m curious what kind of nugbrained idiot thought I was involved in Bianca Davri’s disappearance. Does the guild think I had her killed?” 

Sera snorted. 

“No!” The dwarf nearly shouted in his alarm. Maker forbid they accuse the Inquisitor of murder, Maria thought. 

“No, no.” He continued hastily. “We traced Mistress Davri to Ostwick… but then she vanished.” 

Now, that  _ was _ interesting. The guild were like rats, everywhere in Thedas. To slip out from their eyes… not many could do it. 

And to do it in Ostwick… how many people were capable of slipping the guild in Ostwick? Maria knew anyone worth their salt there. There weren’t many with that level of skill. One, really. But why… 

“I haven’t been to Ostwick in… near about two years. I’m sure I hardly even know anyone there anymore.” Maria lied smoothly. “I’m afraid I won’t be able to help you. It is strange that she picked there to disappear.” 

“The Cadash clan…” The dwarf began delicately. Maria nearly laughed. 

“Can hardly have the Inquisitor involved in whatever they do, can they?” Maria asked, shaking her head. “I was disinherited by my grandmother, and my sister hasn’t spoken to me in a year. But I doubt she’d go to such lengths to annoy me. Bad business to irk the guild, isn’t it?”

 

When she opened the door to her stairwell, she was assaulted by the smell of oranges. She took the stairs two at a time, emerging into her rooms. Everything had been swept off the the desk, replaced with plates full of her favorite foods, pitchers of ale sat in mountain ice. There were flowers everywhere, the blue ones that would always remind her of Varric. And in the middle of it, holding a bottle of oil over her elaborate bathtub, the man himself grinning.

“Happy birthday.” He said warmly, gesturing to the steaming water in the tub. “May have overdone it on the bath oil. Just a bit.” 

“Well, I’ll smell like oranges for days, then.” She said cheerfully, taking in her room and shaking her head. “Who helped with this? Cole?” 

“Spirit assisted courtship. Dorian used to call it cheating.” Varric grinned, unabashed. “Do you want your gift now or later?” 

“Does my gift have to get undressed?” She purred. She loved that she could make that silky heat shimmer to the forefront of his amber eyes with just a few words. 

“You’re as bad as Sera and Bull.” He smirked, pulling out a jewelry box from his pocket. Too large to be a ring box, thank the Maker. She was  _ not _ ready to talk about the hoops they’d have to jump through for that. Inquisitor or no, the guild would squirm to see a Carta rat making moves on one of their deshyrs. 

Fynn’s father had told him to keep her as a mistress. That’s what one did with Carta women, he’d explained patiently, as a younger woman let herself be cowed into looking at the floor. 

“Hey.” Varric had moved away from the tub, resting his hand gently on her arm and smiling into her face easily. He knew, somehow, whenever her emotions had gotten too twisted into knots. “If you want, we can do the undressing part first.” 

And like that, the knot came undone and she laughed, reaching quick fingers to snatch the box from his hands. He pulled it back with a smirk. “What is it?” She asked, leaning against him. “Is it shiny and expensive?” 

“It is both of those things.” He kissed her temple before he handed her the box, letting her open it. Laying in the white cotton was a golden chain, attached to… a golden tube? Barely as long as her pinky. 

“Is it a necklace?” She asked, pulling it out. The tube dangled like a charm, and she could see now that the top of it unscrewed. When she twisted it, she was able to reveal the hollow interior, with a scrap of paper inside it. 

“Nothing gets past you.” Varric teased, letting his hand rest on her waist as she tipped the paper into her palm. He took the tube and chain from her fingers as she unrolled the parchment.

It was  _ the _ poem. The first one that she’d found inside her glove after she’d pried Cassandra and Sera apart.

 

_ The first day _ __  
_ it could have been the sunlight _ __  
_ hitting your eyes _ __  
_ that gave the illusion of fire.  _ __  
_ Till my dying day, _ __  
_ I’ll say I saw sparks _ _  
_ __ and I was ignited.  

 

It had been enough to cut through her then. All her fears fell away when she'd read it. She'd almost gotten him killed at Adamant, nearly gotten them all killed. She warned herself then that she couldn't have him, but his words had undone her. 

The way only he could. 

She wanted to beg him to stay. Plead for him to abandon Kirkwall and never leave her again. 

“It wasn't sunlight or sparks.” Her mouth was moving of its it's own volition and it wasn't saying any of the things she needed it to. “It was the breach, actually. Very green and glowy, spitting out demons. Bathed everything in that eerie light when we were first met.” 

“Everyone’s a critic.” He murmured into her ear. She could smell him even over the scent of oranges and flowers, ale and parchment, ink and the oil he used on the gears in… 

“Bianca’s gone missing.” She slowly rolled the parchment back up, sliding it into the clever tube. Varric pulled away, raising an eyebrow. 

“I’m assuming you’re not talking about my crossbow.” 

“If I was talking about your crossbow, I’d be distraught.” Maria sighed, raising one hand to rub her temple. “Vanished in Ostwick. For some reason, the guild thinks  _ I _ may be hiding her.” 

“That would be a twist I didn’t see coming.” Varric’s voice was carefully light as he took the necklace from her grasp, placing it carefully out of the way. “I suspect if she doesn’t want to be found, she won’t.” 

“Do you want me to send people to find her?” The words almost stuck in her throat. Varric chuckled warmly. 

“Hell of a birthday present, asking you to track down my former lover.” He gripped her shoulders, spinning her to face him and pressing his lips against hers in a kiss that was bruising, possessive. It sent the blood pooling to all the best places in her body. He nipped her lip gently as he pulled away. “No.” He said firmly. 

“Varric…” 

“Now, this is where we get undressed.” He declared, tugging her blouse open with a few well placed flicks of his fingers and letting it slide from her shoulders. Both of his warm hands were sliding down her shoulders, her arms, pausing when they got to her wrists. His careful gaze swung to the anchor, glowing in her right hand. Cracks of green light shimmered through her pale skin, spiraling up to her wrist and slightly beyond it. 

“Princess, that’s gotten bigger.” 

“No it hasn’t.” Maria protested, although she knew it was a lie. “You just haven’t seen it in awhile. Absence makes the mark grow dimmer and all that nonsense.” 

Varric raised an eyebrow and she could tell he hadn’t bought a damn word of her fib. So she grinned instead, leaning forward, pressing her breasts to his chest. “Don’t argue with me, it’s my birthday.” 

He laughed, shaking his head. “Tomorrow, then. But we are going to talk about that.” 

Maria smirked victoriously in return. 

 

The letters flew between Kirkwall, Minrathous, Orlais, Ferelden, Val Royeaux. 

 

_ A sketch of Maria, surrounded by cards. The eyes were particularly striking and life like in the gray pencil. As if they’d roll at him. At the bottom, a sentence in Sera’s hand.  _

_ Keep her with you.  _

 

_ Exalted Council is serious business. Boss isn’t worried. Bringing the boys anyway.  _

 

_ Will be there if I have to walk from Minrathous. That’s saying something.  _

 

_ Has anyone looked at her hand? Is it getting larger? Will leave the Seekers as soon as I can and join her.  _

 

_ Every mage I know has looked at it. Nobody has any new ideas, but I will keep searching my dear.  _

 

_ On my way to Kirkwall. Are they seriously considering making your Viscount? Will wait with Varania until it is time to leave.  _

 

_ I am with her. She is brightest before she burns out. Fire can only last so long.  _

 

_ Varric, _

_ Stop fretting. You’re all a bunch of mother hens. You’d swear I didn’t close the breach twice the way you lot carry on.  _

_ Yes, I’ve had more bad days than good days lately. You know how it is sometimes. I’m sure I’ll be fine.  _

_ Josie and Cullen are worried about the council. I’m not. I’ve been thinking about your last letter. If they actually make you Viscount (what are they thinking?) I’ll be there. Send a message as soon as you know which way it’s swinging. If you want to back out at the last minute, I’ll smuggle you back to Skyhold.  _

_ Glad to hear Fledgling and Bean are getting on. Shocked and concerned you’re considering fatherhood as a rational choice with their antics. I did read that Sabina and Merrill somehow managed to tip an armoire over the railing and get Merrill stuck in the chandelier? Fenris seemed scandalized. Hawke took it in stride though from her tone.  _

_ So, in your world where we’re making a baby, am I in Kirkwall? Or do you live in Skyhold and reign over Kirkwall from a distance? Do we spend summers in Skyhold and winters in Kirkwall? Logistically, this seems difficult.  _

_ You threw me for a loop here, Varric. You can’t just drop things like that casually at the end of your letters.  _

_ Fuck it, I’m in. You only live once, right? At the very least, I’ll enjoy the baby making process. Now is as good a time as any. All I do anymore is attend state dinners and make speeches. I’m getting fat and soft regardless.  _

_ Josie is saying the Exalted Council will probably be scheduled for about four months out, but it sounds like you could be Viscount in the next month. Either way, I’ll see you at your Viscount’s Ball or the Exalted Council. _

_ Or I guess if the sky opens up again, which I would have thought more likely than the Viscount thing.  _

_ I miss you and I love you.  _

_ -MC  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god, my lovely readers, you have all been amazing.
> 
> One chapter left in this tale before I close out this story. I am considering starting a sequel to go through Trespasser, focusing mainly on Maria and Varric. Would there be any interest in it if I were to start it? :-)


	95. The Road to Redemption

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Save the Warden, save the world.

He needed a haircut. If he wasn’t rather certain that the witch was barely restraining herself from slitting his throat, he’d have asked her to do it. As it was, Anders had an atrocious looking bun on the top of his head and no way to get rid of it on his own. The alternative would have been much worse, judging by the rivulets of sweat running down his back, sticking his clothes to his skin. 

Then there were the bugs. Anders was trying  _ very hard _ to not complain about not being dead, but the bugs were making him reconsider whether a quick blade would have been more merciful. Hawke would have made it blissfully short and merciful, at least. That’s why he picked her in the first place, when he’d still been at the point to choose anything. 

His stomach rolled and clenched in uneasy guilt, remembering that last shared glance with Hawke. One glimmering tear running down her pale skin, her voice trembling with emotion as she declared she’d kill him to make sure Fenris was safe. To protect her child. 

When, Anders thought mournfully, had be become such a monster that he couldn’t be trusted with the life of a child? Once, he’d had a horde of them in Darktown. 

Once. 

“You are lagging behind.” Morrigan accused from her spot in front of him. “If you get eaten, I shall not shed a tear for you.” 

“Well, it may be preferable to spending another second in your pleasant company.” Anders muttered, wiping sweat from his forehead. From his left, he heard the thick waxy leaves rustle, saw a long black shape slip effortlessly from one tree to another. Anders had never seen a cat such as the ones in this place before. They were… massive, even from a distance. Easily the size of a halla or a mule. Predators, Morrigan had stated, pointing to animal carcasses stuck in the trees. 

Anders bet they purred, but he hadn’t gotten a chance to see one up close. As if sensing that the two humans too were predators of a fashion, the cats had kept their distance. A shame, really. 

Anders heard the water before he saw it, ducking a branch carelessly snapped back by Morrigan as they emerged through the thick foliage and onto a river bank. Morrigan sighed, as if in relief, throwing her packs onto the ground. “I am going to go downstream to wash the muck.” She declared imperiously.

“You can stay here sweetheart.” Anders smirked salaciously. “I’ve seen it all before, and a bit better if I’m being honest.”

Morrigan rolled her eyes. Anders persisted. “What, not kingly enough for you?” 

Without another word, the woman stalked off. “Think of me!” Anders shouted after her, ripping his own shirt from his skin, discarding the staff she’d found for him behind him. The fabric unbearable in the heat and humidity. Ripping it off revealed his myriad of scars, things he didn’t want Morrigan particularly to see. The ones on his back were bad enough, but it was the one below his ribs that was the freshest wound. A knotted black scar, like a scorch mark in his skin. Morrigan told him it was unclear precisely what had happened, and his own memory was a fickle bitch, but it looked like the Inquisitor had stabbed him with the blade she had carried around Skyhold. Not a perfect stab wound, just a bit shy of anything vital.

But Anders had been choking her at the time, so he supposed that was forgivable. Maker’s ass, the way Varric had looked at her, had looked at  _ him _ . 

His tainted blood had destroyed the weapon, the blighted demon that had once been Justice had turned every blade against him to ooze. And yet… Anders was untainted. 

A miracle, really. Although Morrigan looked at him more like an interesting experiment she was waiting to dissect. For the first time that he could remember, there were no nightmares of Darkspawn, no other voices in his head but his own. 

Dumb luck, but Anders always had been lucky. 

He knelt beside the fast flowing river, splashing water up over his face and rubbing the lukewarm water against his skin, eyes closed. He wouldn’t have opened them again, except for the rustle of the leaves in the trees above him. Anders tilted his head up, staring straight at the creature above him. 

One of the elegant black cats was clinging precariously and confidently to a branch hanging just over Anders. It’s muscles rippled, coat gleaming in the dappled sunlight. The feline’s tail twitched as it watched the human below. It was the closest Anders had ever gotten to one and he grinned up at it in greeting. “Hello beautiful.” He cooed, watching as the creatures tail twitched again. 

In a flash, quicker than his eyes could catch, the creature had leapt from the branch and barreled into him, knocking him back into the loose sediment of the river bank, sinking his body into the mud as it pushed down on him. 

When he had wanted to get close to one of the beasts, he hadn’t planned on being that close. And yet, still, he couldn’t help but admire the snarl, the pointed teeth, the growl coming from low in it’s throat. And it was soft, softer than he thought it would be. One of it’s paws was nearly the size of his head, and those eyes…

 

_ “Er… I didn’t do it.”  _

_ The mage in front of him had the biggest doe eyes he’d ever seen. They’d have looked more at home on a woodland sprite than a young woman. Her hair was pulled back severely and she had a staff in one hand, staring at him, then past him to the darkspawn and templars on the floor.  _

_ It wasn’t until she looked up again that he placed her. “Hey, I recognize you from the circle.” Why she was here, well that was another mystery, but he grinned in confidence. It was a good grin, one that had most girls swooning. Her lips twitched into a quick smile that was more amused than anything.  _

_ “Anders.” His name was a greeting in her mouth. “I know they didn’t bloody let you out.”  _

_ “I know what they’ve been saying about me, but this?” He motioned behind him carelessly. “Not my doing.”  _

_ Well, mostly not his doing. He hadn’t healed some wounds that maybe could have been healed, but…  _

_ “Don’t get me wrong. I’m not particularly broken up about them dying, to be perfectly honest.” He continued aimlessly. _

_ “Right.” The mage said quietly. And her name was on the tip of his tongue, if he could only just remember it… she was young though. What, all of eighteen at most?  _

_ “Warden Commander!” Somebody called desperately. The girl looked over her shoulder, mouth thinning.  _

_ “Right.” She repeated again. “You better come along, I’ve got a keep to save.”  _

_ “Why, no bother at all my fair lady.” Anders swept into an exaggerated bow. “Although, I am blanking on your name, sweetheart.”  _

 

“Amell.” The name was out of his mouth in a gust of breath, one hand reaching up to touch the soft fur of the cat’s face. There was a vicious scar running just outside of her right eye, a wicked looking thing that barely missed cleaving one of the doe eyes in half. “Who did that to you, sweetheart?” 

The cat hissed at him, but those were Chantal’s eyes. He was certain of it. He stared them down until the cat pushed itself away from him. As it moved, it’s form changed. Shifting, boiling, shrinking.

But those eyes stayed the same, and they were furious. 

“Do you want to know what fucking happened, Anders?” She hissed now, still straddling him, pushing him into the mud of the river bank with her small fists. “An axe damn near took my eye out, and I have a damn scar because my healer decided to take himself off and start a  _ revolution _ .” 

Anders winced, but she was still pushing him into the mud. And she was all sinewy muscle and rage. “Is Justice in there? I want a damn word if he is. What were you both thinking…” 

“Chantal…” He tried to plead. He knees were digging rather uncomfortable into his stomach and… 

“People died, Anders!” She cried out, a fist connecting with his cheekbone. 

Oh for fuck’s sake, he thought, capturing her bird thin wrists in each hand and rolling her onto her back in a swift movement. She tried to knee him in the groin, but it certainly wasn’t the first time a woman had tried that move on him. “Let’s talk about it.” He begged. Sparks were flying from her fingertips, and Anders may win a battle of strength, but if Chantal started slinging spells…

As soon as they were there, they were gone. Chantal was gasping for breath in between deep, rattling coughs that shook her whole frame underneath him. In shock, Anders released her wrists as she curled in on herself, her whole frame trembling with the effort, fists clenching as she hacked. 

Maker, she sounded  _ bad. _ And instantly, he was in healer mode. He remembered Chantal’s body like a favorite book, blue light coming to his fingertips and pushing into her, seeking… 

“You can’t heal it, you idiot.” Chantal muttered, exhausted. And finally, Anders realized the bright pinks spots in her pale cheeks weren’t just a symptom of anger. She was burning up, and so pale… 

Except for her veins. They seemed to be even darker than normal. Anders stomach twisted in on itself. 

But she was only a year farther along than he had been, he thought aghast. And the King hadn’t even been this bad… 

“She killed the archdemon.” Morrigan had appeared from beside him, staring down at both of them forlornly. “It is as I feared.” 

“As soon as I can breathe again, I’m punching you in the face too.” She promised. “Ali…” 

“Alistair sent us.” 

This made her smile, and it was so lovely on her face, even as she heaved for breath. “Wish I could tell him I’m sorry. Can’t save us this time.” 

“Don’t speak like that. It is not over yet, is it?” Morrigan asked. “Where is Zevran?” 

Slowly, Chantal lifted one pale arm and pointed across the river. Covered in mud, and disregarding it entirely, Anders stood. Then he stooped down and swung her into his arms. 

He’d had to carry her once after she’d foolishly jumped off a cliff in the deep roads and broken her ankle. He’d been too afraid to let her walk on it. She was much lighter now, all skin and bones and fevered skin. 

“Will this tonic of yours help this?” Anders asked, looking at the apostate. 

“If the singing will stop, that’s enough.” Chantal groaned. 

“I hope.” Morrigan said fiercely. “And if not, we shall carry her until we find the cure.” 

 

_ If he couldn’t sleep, nobody else was going to, that was for damn sure. Anders had earned a few lazy, lingering mornings, preferably naked and sharing a nice warm bed with at least one pretty boy or girl.  _

_ But, no, Chantal had to fix up her damned keep. And the workers were up hammering at the crack of dawn. All to rebuild the bloody keep she could have kept in one piece if she hadn’t gone dancing off to save every unfortunate orphan and downtrodden citizen.  _

_ And he couldn’t help but smile, even through his exasperation. _

_ He flung open Chantal’s bedroom door, sauntering in with a cheerful whisper and making a straight line to the heavy curtains. “Wakey wakey, Commander! Time to go find darkspawn or get stabbed, whatever made it on your agenda today. I look forward to trailing happily in your wake with only mild complaining.”  _

_ The warm, undoubtedly male chuckle from behind him made him freeze in disbelief. He spun on his foot, peering into the plain wooden bed at the elf lazing among the pillows, Chantal’s head buried in his chest.  _

_ “Mi amor, is this how you get woken up every day?” The elf asked, tipping his nose down to gently brush his nose against her dark hair. He hadn’t seen Commander Amell looking so delightfully ruffled, a girlish pink dusting her cheeks.  _

_ “Well, it looks like your wakeup call was a bit more fun than mine was.” Anders grinned salaciously. “Chantal, you’ve been holding out on us. You little minx.”  _

_ “Anders.” His name was a groan in her mouth as she ducked her head further into the elf’s chest. _

_ “Ah, the pretty apostate.” The elf nodded to himself with a similar grin. “Not bad, but still only the second prettiest mage in Amaranthine by far.”   _

_ “Zevran.” Another groan, Chantal tugging the blankets up to her ears that had gone red as apples.  _

  
Chantal was dying. 

But so was Zevran, that much was obvious. Although his face was still as strikingly handsome as it had always been while he lurked around Amaranthine and Vigil’s keep, he had the look of a man being consumed by flames. A slow, twisted agony that seared over his expression the moment Chantal looked away from him or closed his eyes. As Morrigan made the tonics they’d stolen from the Tevinter mage, Anders took in the sparse, neat camp. Oghren snored under a tree, a female dwarf with hair as red as the Inquisitors and a gaze as hard as stone stared down Morrigan. 

“The swamp witch has chosen a convenient time to return.” She sniffed arrogantly. 

“Shale, stop it.” Chantal ordered. 

“How did you accomplish that?” Morrigan asked, her hands flying over their stock of ingredients. 

“Fell into the deep roads. They come the whole way out here, you know.” Chantal said quietly. “Morrigan, if this doesn’t work…” 

“It will work.” Morrigan’s brows drew together. “It must. Only long enough to find a way to cure you.” 

“Don’t let me become a monster, Morrigan.” Chantal continued, oblivious to the way Zevran flinched beside Anders. “Morrigan, promise. I’ll forgive you everything, but you have to…” 

A fit of coughing took her and Morrigan stopped what she was doing to press the heel of her hand against Chantal’s cheek. When the fit subsided, Morrigan nodded. “As you wish, Warden.” 

As if he couldn’t bear it a second longer, Zevran turned his gaze to the side. Anders almost missed the words as he whispered them.

“We will save her at any cost.” His eyes were blazing, his jaw firm. “Any cost.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all your reviews and sticking it out! This is the end (for now!) If there's any interest in a continuation, I will definitely consider it!


End file.
